Ocean Size Love
by Snarksisters
Summary: AU Meredith is Hollywood royalty, writing scripts with Alex Karev. Derek is a film director and produces with Mark. Cristina is a paparazzi and Izzie writes for the tabloids. MerDer & Lexzie. Other GA characters included.
1. Chapter 1

(A/N: We do not claim ownership of, nor association with, GA in any way. We're only borrowing Shonda's characters to create our happy place since she didn't leave us one.)

"Mer, I'm serious. Cut it out. I'm trying to work here."

Meredith chuckled as Alex batted away the paperclip she tossed his way. The clip fell onto the desk next to Alex's laptop computer.

"You know I have a short attention span, Alex." Meredith shifted in her chair as she reached for more paperclips. "We've been working on that scene for two freaking hours! Your female, or should I say, lack of a normal acting one, is driving me nuts! I need a break!"

Meredith knew the scene wasn't working – it stopped due to the actions of Alex's female character in the last act. Alex, in his typical "dude" manner, didn't see anything wrong with the scene, other than the glaring lack of sex. Her slim fingers toyed with another paperclip.

"You know Alex, for as much as you get around, you'd think you'd know how to write a believable female character."

Alex Karev looked up from his laptop at his writing partner of the past 10 years. Meredith Grey leaned back in her chair, resting her bare feet on the edge of the desk which sat in a corner of what used to be Thatcher Grey's cozy, sunny study. With the Pacific Ocean outside the windows, Alex could hear the waves crashing against the sandy beach. Alex still envied Meredith the Malibu bungalow she received from her dad as a college graduation gift. Thatcher's three Oscar statuettes sitting on the shelf behind Meredith glistened in the sunlight and made Alex's mouth water.

"What's wrong with Emily?"

"Coffee! I need more coffee Alex. Want some?" Meredith asked over her shoulder as she dashed towards the kitchen.

"What's wrong with Emily?" Alex yelled.

"I can't hear you!" Meredith yelled back.

Alex stretched his arms above his head, shaking the cramps from his fingers. He and Meredith had been working on the final act of their movie script "THE ANATOMY OF LOVE" since 9am that morning. It was now 3pm, with the last two hours spent on the final scene. The finished script was due to the film's producer, Mark Sloan, by 8pm that evening.

Meredith had complained that Emily's, the main character, reaction to the Hero's declaration of love was "too tits and ass" and wanted it rewritten. "Mer, get your ass back in here. We have to finish this!"

Meredith sat a large mug on the desk next to Alex. "You don't need to yell, Alex. I'm right here."

"I'm serious Mer. You can explain to Sloan why, after giving us three extra weeks, his script still isn't finish." Smirking, Alex grabbed the mug of coffee. "Better yet, explain it to Shepard."

"Sloan is a manwhore, and Shepard is an ass." Meredith muttered into her mug.

"True, but we owe them this script in…" Alex glanced at his wristwatch. "About 5 hours."

Alex noted how Meredith's blue-grey eyes still turned a stormy grey at the mention Derek Shepard's name. Even after 10 years, emotional wounds still festered.

"Ok, so where were we?" Meredith once again rested her bare feet on the desk. Leaning back in her chair and sipping the hot coffee, Meredith gave her attention back to the script. She was determined not to think about Derek Shepard.

Reaching for the remote control, Meredith turned on the small plasma screen TV sitting on the stand behind Alex. Recognizing the local news, Meredith muted the sound since Alex hated any kind of noise while he was working.

"Emily needs to do more than flash her boobs and shake her ass, Alex."

Alex raised his mug and brandished it in Meredith's direction. "She does more than that."

"No, she doesn't."

Alex grinned. He always enjoyed discussing character development and motivation with Meredith. It was so easy to push her buttons.

"Emily does more than flash 'em Mer."

"She lets him cop a feel. Wow. Big moment." Meredith rolled her eyes. "I think my dad would be telling you the same thing."

"Mer, your dad had a great appreciation for the money shot."

Meredith gestured to the statuette grouping behind her. "I think Dad's Oscars trump your interpretation of a money shot."

Turning her attention back to the TV screen, Meredith was surprised to see her father's face on it. Sitting upright, Meredith grabbed the remote, turning up the volume.

"…renowned Movie Producer Thatcher Grey died suddenly this afternoon…"

Alex spun around in his chair to face the TV. "What the hell?"

A crashing noise made Alex flip back around to Meredith. Her coffee mug slipped from her hand to the hardwood floor. She sat there in shock, staring at the image of her father on the TV screen with the years of his birth and death underneath his smiling face.

Next came an image of an adolescent Meredith with Thatcher exiting a restaurant. Meredith remembered when the photo was taken 15 years ago. During her annual summer visit with Thatcher, a photographer seemed to come out of nowhere to snap the photo. Meredith had been sick of the cameras, the flashes, the intrusion into their lives. She looked pissed off in the photo while Thatcher turned toward the camera and smiled while walking Meredith to his car.

Meredith's ringing cell phone ended the flashback.


	2. Chapter 2

(A/N: Standard disclaimer - just borrowing Shonda's character for our enjoyment. We don't own them.)

The last thing Derek Shepherd wanted to do was spend his Sunday afternoon waiting for Richard Webber and his bitch Harvey. Necessary evil my man, he reminds himself as he motions one of the wait staff over. Another scotch on the rocks, the third one. The rate he was going he would be comfortably numb when he pitched M.W.P.'s latest project to the overly exuberant couple. M.W.P. Man Whore Production. His business partner Mark Sloan's tribute to all the women he had ever screwed, emotionally, physically, or otherwise.

"So, where is our favorite couple of same sex orientation?"

The husky drawl and the scrapping of metal chair legs on tile had him looking up to find said business partner plopping down into a chair. In typical bum fashion Mark wore a pair of khaki shorts with ripped pockets, some light orange borderline peach t shirt with a surfer screened onto it, and brown flip flips that had seen better days. Looking at him, nobody would guess he was worth more than the Hilton sisters combined. "Why do you insist on calling them that?" It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if he had never heard of shopping someplace other than a bargain bin at the local thrift store but curbed the urge. There had been many an argument over Mark's appearance, all ending at a stand still. When it came to awards or parties Mark was a fashion plate. In what he called his normal life he maintained comfort.

"I'm being politically correct. What would you have me call them?" Tipping his chair back a bit, Mark grinned at him, arms resting across his chest.

"I don't know, how about their names for starters," Derek snapped. The appearance of his scotch draws his attention from the theatrics of the man across from him. There were days, like today, he wondered why the hell he put up with the guy. Then there were days he knew exactly why. Mark was a creative genius. Derek thought inside the box, while Mark ignored boundaries. Together, they were invincible.

"Nobody goes by their actual name in this town, McDreamy, you know that."

McDreamy. What he wouldn't give to get his hands on the reporter who coined him that. Damn National Enquirer. He hated that paper. He really did. Always nosing around, pulling stories from thin air and running with them, their version of the truth in print for all to see. "Call me that again and you'll be sipping all your meals through a straw…McSteamy." In terms of nicknames he would rather deal with McDreamy than McSteamy.

"He certainly is steamy," a voice cooed from behind. The over zealous Harvey Dupree Webber flounced toward them. Ever the attention lover and a self proclaimed shoe whore, Harvey teeter tottered on a pair of custom designed Giuseppe Zanotti D'Orsay sandals complete with a sparkling jewels on the foot strap. The shoes were quite at odds with his sleek Armani suit. If anyone noticed the odd combination they didn't say so. He was Harvey Dupree Webber, the much loved 'wife' of billionaire Richard Webber. Money covered a multitude of sins, fetishes and, much to Harvey's delight, fashion quirks.

"Leave the poor boy alone Harvey," Richard scolded. Ever the gentleman, he pulls a chair out for Harvey, kissing his life partner's hand while helping him be seated. Once he himself had been seated, Richard eyed Derek. The two had an unspoken agreement that Derek would tolerate Harvey's giggly presence if Richard ignored Mark. It was an agreement that worked wonders for them. "So, tell me about this new film. Tell me why I should spend my money on it."

"Cause you don't have nothing better to do with all that cash?" Mark quipped, chuckling over what he assumed was funny. He wasn't far off from the truth. Richard Webber had more money than God and never knew what exactly to do with it. He also had a knack for making more money. It was running joke that if someone wanted something to succeed they needed to get the backing of Webber Industries.

Derek mutters a curse under his breath. One of these days Mark mouth was going to get them into trouble. He would prefer that it wasn't today. They needed Webber's money to fund this project, unless Mark was up to sinking his own cash in. Which he doubted. "The storyline is fairly simple. The heroine, Emily, has had her heart broken numerous times. She is to the point of thinking love doesn't exist when she meets Adam."

"Who is a complete man whore," Mark interjects.

Shooting him a look, Derek rolls back the cuffs of his pale blue and navy vertical striped, long sleeved button up shirt. He shakes his head before continuing. "Adam knows right off how he feels about Emily, but after being burned so many times she is leery to accept that he could fall in love with her so quickly and actually mean it. Adam has to go through all these tests to prove he loves her and grows a bit tired of having to prove his love. In the end it is up to Emily to show him that she loves him and that she knows he loves her."

"Hm. Sappy romance?" Richard stared at him through hooded eyes, steepled fingers tapping his whiskered chin.

"No. Romantic comedy. Written by Grey and Karev." That would be a big draw. Selfish bitch that she was Meredith could write. Add the talent of her so called college buddy and the movie was always a hit. If it wasn't for the love he had for her father, his mentor, and the guarantee of a box office smash he wouldn't have a damn thing to do with the fickle female. Ten years still hadn't curbed his anger over the way she had ended things. Shaking his head to clear it of memories that were sure to make his blood boil. "We can get you a copy of the script sent over this evening, can't we Mark?" When it came to dealing with Meredith or her buddy Karev he left Mark in charge. The less contact he had with that she devil the better!

"Excellent," Richard nodded his approval. "Now, tell me, who will be directing? Tell me its you, Derek."

Derek grins. "Of course!" Action and adventure were more Mark's style.

"Markie," Harvey purred, leaning on close to Mark, arms folded on the table. "What does MWP stand for?"

Derek smirked. The question was asked of them on a regular basis. Their own little private joke. He chuckles when he hears Richard shushing Harvey, telling him that he knows they're not going to say. "More Women Please," he murmurs.

Mark scoffs. "Please. You can do better. Harvey, it stands for More Wet Pussy on week days, and Mark's Wonderful Penis on the weekends."

Derek groans, scrubbing a hand down his face. The soft clearing of a throat has him looking up into a pair of large chocolate colored eyes. A waitress, Amy her tag read, stood a foot way. Despite the clash of scarlet lipstick with her auburn hair, and the hideous white shirt and black pants uniform all Formosa wait staff had to wear, she was a looker. "I'm good, not sure about the rest of these wankers though."

"Well hello, sweet thing," Mark crooned. Derek blocked his arm before he could reach out and pinch the slender waitress on the ass. They had already had to settle with four other girls because of such behavior.

"Derek Shepherd?" The waitress asked. He nods, frowning slightly. "I was wondering if I could get a comment on your reaction to Thatcher Grey's death?"

He couldn't help himself. He burst out laughing. Thatcher dead. That was a good one. They had had breakfast just that morning at the Beverly Hills Polo Club. The man had looked a bit strained but otherwise a picture of health. "You're funny. Tell me, who put you up this? Mark?"

"Not me," Mark throws his hands up. Richard and Harvey also shake their head in denial.

Derek frowns, looking up at the waitress once more. "Who put you up to this? Its not very funny!"

"Nobody put me up to anything, sir. Thatcher Grey died twenty minutes ago just outside The Ivy. He was seen in the company of a young woman with dark hair. Any idea who she could be?"

"Look, sweetie, this isn't funny anymore. I want to see your manager!" Mark pushed his chair away from the table, standing. The waitress' eyes widen, she turns on her heel abruptly and hurries off. She exchanges a few heated words with the bartender before disappearing into the back. "Derek, you okay?"

Hands shaking, Derek downs the rest of his scotch. The girl hadn't been joking. She had been dead serious. "Turn on the news," he yells at the bartender. When the kid stared back at him he smacks his hand on the table. "I said turn on the goddamn news!" The kid obeyed this time, using a remote to turn on the plasma that was behind the bar.

"…still no word yet on the circumstances surrounding the death of Thatcher Grey or the identity of the young woman seen fleeing the scene…"

"No," he whispers. His ocean blue eyes burn as his chest heaves. This wasn't happening. Thatcher Grey couldn't be dead, and yet, even as he was denying it he knew it was true. His long time friend and mentor was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

(A/N: We still don't own the show.)

It had to of been the worst two hundred dollars she had ever spent. Two hundred dollars so she could wear a discount store white blouse, pleated black trousers that made her ass look flat and her stomach bunchy, and boring black flats that pinched her feet. Muttering a curse under her breath as she slips out the back door of the Formosa Cafe, Izzie Stevens reaches up to brush a lock of auburn hair off her face. 'Oh fuck it,' she thinks, grabbing a chunk of the thick waves by the roots. The shoulder length wig comes off easily enough. If she had put it on properly there would have been pins and a small stocking cap made of nylon material to contend with. There had been no time for any of that. Finger combing her own long blonde locks, she tucks the wig under her arm.

"Careful with that. It cost me close to three hundred."

The semi-pissed off voice gave her a moment's pause next to the over flowing and rotted smelling dumpster. A brief smile lifts the corners of her scarlet painted lips. "Don't worry. I'm not going to harm your precious wig," Izzie responds flippantly. Her finger make quick work of the simple buttons running the front of the cotton long sleeved blouse she had worn as 'Amy' the waitress. The hideous thing still sported a name tag reading that name. Most likely the real Amy would be pissed to find she had to purchase another tag. Oh well. Good ole Ralphie the bartender had two hundred bucks warming his pocket, he could buy the unknown Amy a new tag.

"I'm serious. That's real hair. Do you know how hard it is to find a real hair wig for that cheap?" The owner of the voice stepped out from behind the dumpster. Dressed from head to toe in black, Cristina seemed to materialize from no where. Blending in, going unnoticed, it was all part of the job. Their job. Izzie got the story, Cristina took the pictures to back it up. They were Goddesses in the world of Stalkerazzi.

"Yes, actually I do. Remember the pretty blonde one? With all the nice curls? Gee, I wonder what happened to it? Oh. That's right. You lost it. When you cut that damn hole in Brad Pitt's fence." Shrugging her upper body free of the cursed blouse she tosses it into the alligator skinned tote Cristina pitched toward her. In exchange, she tossed the oh so precious real hair wig to its rightful owner. The hideous black pants soon joined the blouse. Nothing like standing in a Hollywood alley in nothing more than a white satin push up bra and a black lace thong. "Keep watch, will ya?"

"I'm watching," Cristina growled, aiming her camera toward the opposite end of the alley way. People rushed by on the sidewalk, paying no mind to partially nude blonde with the Korean photographer ten feet away. "Did you get anything?"

"No!" Izzie's brow wrinkles as she remembers the outburst from Derek Shepherd when she had asked if he had anything to say concerning the death of his mentor Thatcher Grey. The bastard had laughed at her. Laughed at her! Until it hit him she was being serious. By then his dinner guests, as well as his business partner Mark Sloan, were starting to raise a fuss. It had been stick around and get busted, which she couldn't afford to do this week, or get the hell out of dodge. "Stupid ass Sloan started making noise about getting the manager." Shaking out the simple black v neck top she had worn earlier, she lets out a disgusted sigh before tugging it on over her head. Dark washed designer jeans and black pointy toed Jimmy Choo's completed the look. Giving her hair one last finger comb, she hooks the tote over her arm. To a passerby she would look like any other twenty something blonde in Hollywood on a Sunday afternoon. "Might want to bag the lens," she said breezily as she sailed past Cristina.

"And where might we be off to now, Oh great one who doesn't have a story," Cristina sneered. The camera was bagged before they hit the street. Gear like her's drew attention, attention she didn't want.

"Oh, I have a story," Izzie assured her. "A man like Thatcher Grey croaks at the Ivey while in the company of a twenty year old brunette barbie doll is a story just waiting to happen."

A hint of a smile crosses Cristina's stoic face. "And I suppose you're going to make it happen?"

Izzie flashes her smug smile. "Of course."


	4. Chapter 4

(A/N: We don't own GA in any way, shape or form. Many thanks for reading and commenting!)

"Meredith, it's time."

A gentle hand rested on Meredith's black silk covered shoulder as a voice quietly whispered the words against her ear. The sound brought a reluctant Meredith back to the present, the auditorium with the ruby red plush seating and matching drapes gracing the stage.

Daubing at the constant trail of tears on her cheeks, Meredith glanced up into the kind face of Robyn, Thatcher's loyal assistant of the past 20 years. It had been Robyn calling Meredith to break the news of Thatcher's death a month ago. Too grief stricken to function, Meredith left all decisions concerning the funeral in Robyn's capable hands. Alex aided Robyn in coordinating today's memorial service, which was just ending. Only immediate family and close friends attended the internment at Hollywood Forever Cemetery, where Thatcher's remains rested near Cecil B. Demille, Douglas Fairbanks and other industry luminaries. The memorial service enabled the Hollywood community to say goodbye to one of their own.

The auditorium was filled to capacity. Thatcher had been well respected, first as an Actor and then as a Producer. Seeing the familiar faces from her father's past brought back bittersweet memories. Those invited to speak about Thatcher all painted the same picture of a talented, driven man whose life revolved around his only daughter Meredith. Robyn and Alex sat with Meredith through the service. At times, a distraught Meredith could be seen leaning against Alex.

A images from Thatcher's life were projected against a large screen: Thatcher accepting his first Oscar; Thatcher on the set of his movie as a Producer; a young Thatcher at the start of his acting career 40 years earlier; Thatcher and his ex-wife Ellis holding an infant Meredith; Thatcher escorting first an 11-year old Meredith to a movie premier, and later a teenage Meredith to her first Oscar ceremony. Scenes from his movies brought rounds of applause.

"It was nice to see Ellis make time for Thatcher one last time," Robyn's sarcastic comment wasn't lost on either Meredith or Alex.

"Frankly Robyn, I'm glad she stayed in New York." Meredith hugged the woman who was a second mother to her, stepping in over the years for a woman who preferred spending her ex-husband's money to spending time with their daughter.

"Mer, we should go." Alex said, silently communicating to Robyn that he would see Meredith home. Robyn nodded once and left to thank the departing attendees.

Drawing a shaky breath, Meredith stood upright with Alex's help. She turned and for the first time noticed the hundreds of people who came to pay their respects. Famous faces mixed with the non-famous.

"Dad!" Alex's voice cut across the row of seats to a tall, weathered man, dressed in pseudo-grunge haute couture casualness befitting his status as a world-weary rock legend.

Alex and the man briefly embraced as Meredith looked on, a sad watery smile gracing her face. A wildly successful musician since before Alex was in diapers, Jackson Karev had given the fledgling Mick Jagger and the Stones lessons on how to rock and roll. Jackson had lived his lessons well, as he is taking a brief reprieve from his sixth stint in rehab to attend the memorial service. The current extended round of rehab at a Tucson, Arizona establishment resulted from Jackson's stoned appearance during his induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame earlier in the year.

"Meredith, I am very sorry about your dad," Jackson embraced Meredith. "It's such a shock. When I saw him last week, Thatch was fine. Happy even."

She pulled back to look at Jackson. "Dad came out to Arizona to see you?" Meredith knew that Thatcher and Jackson were good friends, introduced years ago by their respective offspring who met and bonded during their first week at UCLA.

"Hell yeah. He came to see me once a week. This time he was so giddy I asked Thatch if he needed a drug test."

Alex touched his father's arm, and tapped the face of his wristwatch.

"I know son, time for me to go," he chuckled. "When they give you a hall pass, it has a short expiration date."

"I appreciate you coming to the service, Jackson." Meredith sighed. "I know Dad would also."

Jackson drew Meredith against him for one last hug. "He was so proud of you Meredith. And he loved you more than life itself. Never forget that. No matter what."

"Dad, do you need help getting out of here?" Alex knew the media swarmed the entrance and all exit points.

"Hell no, son. A recovering rock star is a damn proud rock star. Rehab is a badge of honor."


	5. Chapter 5

Meredith didn't look anything like her photos. But then, tabloid shots aren't the most flattering.

Throwing her cigarette on the ground and snuffing it out with the pointy toe of her black, polka dot Pedro Garcia pump, Lexie Grey stepped back behind the corner of the building as she watched Meredith Grey and her companion leave the building. Even from across the parking lot, Lexie detected a closeness between the two people. She wondered if he was Karev or Dandridge. She knew it wasn't Shepard.

Lexie is glad she avoided the memorial service. It would have been a painful reminder of what she never had and now never will.

The dress was going to be burned. She didn't give a fuck if it was vintage Pucci, she was burning the son of a bitch. Squaring her shoulder's back in some attempt to get the jersey material from sticking to her sweaty back Cristina Yang tightens her hold on her camera. The shots she had taken so far had been grocery money. If she wanted to make rent, and the car payment, she had to get something better than the stars lining up to pay their respects to the oh so wonderful Thatcher Grey. What was so wonderful about the man? He made a few good movies. Big deal.

"Does she look familiar?"

The question was whispered in her left ear and accompanied by a cloud of some sickeningly sweet perfume. She didn't have to turn to know it was Izzie. In fact, she preferred to not look at the svelte blonde right now. It would only fuel her anger over being stuffed into a stuffy dress that attracted heat the way honey attracts flies. Izzie looked amazing, of course. Her thick blonde hair done up in a classic French twist, her body encased in a classic black dress that was a Breakfast at Tiffany's knock off, and her favorite Jimmy Choo stilettos. Aside from looking old school Hollywood glam, there wouldn't be a single sign that the other woman was sweltering in under the afternoon sun.

"Does who look familiar? You're going to have to be a bit more specific with your she's. This is a memorial for a legend, remember? There are more goddamn she's here than lady's night at The Spider Club." Cristina snapped. Unlike Izzie, who looked perfect, she was hot, sweaty, and her hair was frizzing. If someone didn't throw down soon she was going to say fuck it and leave.

"That woman. There. By the building. Don't look!" Izzie's long nails dig into her arm. She scowls. "I mean, look but don't look. Shoulder length dark hair. Black dress with the red belt. Polka dot shoes. You see her?"

"Yeah. I see her." Damn. Izzie was right. The woman did look familiar. Then again, everyone in Hollywood looked familiar. A shout from the parking lot draws her attention from the woman. "Isn't that Grey and Shepherd?" Wrenching her arm away from Izzie's grasp she hurried as fast as her Manolo Blahnik's would carry her. A fight between ex-lovers Derek Shepherd and Meredith Grey at the memorial of Meredith's father would definitely pay her half of this month's rent, the car payment, and maybe get her that zoom lens she had been lusting after.


	6. Chapter 6

(It's been awhile for our fic because, unfortunately, as for a lot of us, 3D got in the way. And we need to remind everyone that we have no claim to GA or its characters.)

The bright California day blinded Meredith as she and Alex stepped into it. Pausing to don their habitual sunglasses, Meredith raised her face toward the warmth of the sun. A welcome change from the air-conditioned auditorium. She was grateful for Alex's guidance. Left on her own, Meredith would have curled up in a ball under her chair before the service and stayed there.

"Mer, I'm sure Finn would have been here if he could."

"If he could." Meredith saw red. She had a pretty good idea why he couldn't and it involved Derek Shepard.

Finn Dandridge, her boyfriend of the past three months, was the current Assistant Director of "Hand in Hand," a cable movie produced under the MWP banner. Meredith had driven Finn to the set one morning last week after helping him deliver his car to his local garage for repair. She unknowingly parked her yellow ragtop VW Thing next to Derek Shepard's Range Rover. As Finn kissed her goodbye, Meredith heard a car door slam hard and a voice say "give your girlfriend back her tongue and get inside Finn. You're late." The snarling voice curled around Meredith's spine as she pulled away to say a few choice words but they died in her throat as she recognized the jean-clad figure of Derek Shepard striding towards the studio building.

"Stay here. I'll get the car." Alex turned to Meredith. She looked drained, but it didn't take away from her natural beauty. After a quick kiss to her temple, Alex headed off into the sea of expensive ego-boosting cars and limousines.

There was no point in running. With a story like this, it was best to get the details from the on lookers then call the parties involved to get a statement. Pulling a silver compact from her beaded black clutch, Izzie checks her dark red lipstick. No need to reapply. Snapping the little mirror closed she drops it back in the tiny purse. Her heels click on the pavement as she edges in close to the scene. "Excuse me," she murmurs when she bumps the arm of an older gentleman. Her eyes widen. "Jackson Karev?"

The man looks bewildered for a moment. Then recognition dawned. "Well, if it isn't the AA meeting crasher. Where's your camera happy partner in crime?"

Izzie fights back a smile. "What makes you think I don't need those meetings? I could have all sorts of secret pains that I need to drown."

Jackson snorts. "Try that on someone who doesn't actually have secret pains." Izzie's smile falters. Poor man. The tabloids ripped him to shreds on a regular basis. She made a practice of keeping her conversations with him off the record. No point in adding to the man's pain, no point in capitalizing on it either. He didn't make it publicly known, his reasons for self destructing. She knew though. While Cristina had been off snapping incriminating photos of Danny Baldwin drinking from a flask moments after leaving an AA meeting, she had sat on the front steps of a nondescript church listening to the lone reason Jackson Karev chose to fry his mind into oblivion: finding the body of his wife after she had put a gun to her head and pulled the trigger. He still carried the note saying she couldn't take the pain anymore. Front pocket of his shirt, next to his heart, along with a family photograph.

"So, do you know what all this is about?" Izzie nods toward the heated verbal assault between Meredith Grey and Derek Shepherd.

"I think it has something to do with jealousy," Jackson answered vaguely. She had known he would. He always made her work for information. "You know something I don't understand, why is a beautiful girl like you alone?"

"I'm not alone. I'm here with my bitch." Izzie teased. She knew that wasn't what he was talking about. It was an ongoing argument between the two of them. For whatever reason, Jackson had gotten it in his head she was perfect for his son. Right. The reporter who stalked celebrities to pay rent was the perfect woman for a playboy screenwriter. It was laughable.

"Still pimping that story out are you? Cristina is no more your bitch than Mark Sloan is Derek Shepherd's. What you need is a man. A nice man."

She knew where this was going. "Like your son?" She supplied.

"Yes! Exactly like my son. Don't let those stories fool you. My Alex, he's a keeper." Jackson grinned across the crowd. She didn't have to look to know that Jackson's 'Alex' was over there. Alex Karev was handsome. She would give him that. He was also an ass, had a new woman on his arm almost every night, closed down clubs on a regular basis and the way he wrote woman, as empty minded sex toys, was as irritating as hell.

"I'll think about it. Right now, I have to find a story. Rent is due," Izzie murmurs. She didn't need to think about it. It would be a cold day in hell before she agreed to play arm ornament for Alex Karev.

"Hm. I'm late for my meeting." She gives him a pointed look. He chuckles. "Fine. My pass was only for the memorial. Memorial is done. Time to mosey on back to my posh cell. Its right next to Britney Spears you know? The tag on her door says Jane Smith, not very creative as far as alias' go, but its Britney none the less. Have to listen to her whine about how horrible her life is during AA meetings. Really do have one tonight, you know? At seven o'clock. Open to other addicts who feel the need to overcome their addiction."

Izzie grins as the aged rock star ambles away. By now Cristina had her shots, and probably enough information to do some printed damage of the Grey/Shepherd throw down. Anything Britney sold, and sold well. With any luck the bubble gum pop princess had done something insane again, like shaved her head, or decided to not shave her body. Either way, rent was going to be paid. She blows a kiss in Jackson's direction before pulling out her phone to call Cristina.


	7. Chapter 7

Watching as Alex Karev crossed the parking lot, He couldn't figure out why after 10 years, the sight of another man's mouth anywhere on her body gnawed at his insides.

"Come on, we need to do this." Mark Sloan pulled at his silk tie. He hated ties with a passion. And the suits they went with. Went against his comfort creed.

Derek ignored him, and continued to watch Meredith as she exchanged words with Katie Holmes. Tom wasn't in sight, nor her handlers, which surprised Derek.

Mark waved his hand in front of Derek's face. "Hey, are you in there?" The dark Serengeti sunglasses hid Derek's expression from Mark, but he could picture the anger as plain as day. Mark mentally calculated the distance between Meredith and Derek across the parking lot. As much as he hated shortening the distance, he knew they had to do it out of respect to Thatcher. Besides, he got along with Meredith. She only disliked him while despising Derek. About eight years ago, Mark hit on Meredith when they crossed paths at a restaurant. While she turned him down cold, Derek's volcanic reaction to Mark's definite interest ended any subsequent attempts. Derek could never stop Mark from flirting with her though.

Derek brushed his hand away from his line of vision. "I'm here."

Mark rolled his eyes. "You're such a girl."

Derek uttered a few choice curse words at Mark's Dolce & Gabbana-clad back as he followed him to where Meredith waited.

"Meredith, I'm very sorry about Thatcher." Mark placed a brief kiss against Meredith's cheek. Inhaling her lavender scent, Mark resisted the urge to let his lips linger for an extra second or two. He had too much respect and affection for Thatcher. Not to mention Derek would ring his neck. With an ounce of regret, Mark stepped back.

"Thank you, Mark."

Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his dark grey Armani suit, Derek stepped forward, "Meredith, please. You don't know how sorry I am about Thatcher. He was a generous and talented man. Saying I will miss him doesn't begin to describe how big of a hole he's leaving in my life, personally and professionally."

I'm sure nowhere near the size of the crater you left in mine, Meredith thought as she counted to ten before turning to face Derek. She knew he would be here today. She tried to ban him from the internment, but Robyn wouldn't let her, reminding Meredith of the close friendship between her father and Derek. If Thatcher had known the whole story ten years ago, Meredith knew her father would have killed Derek with his own two hands.

Meredith barely nodded in acknowledgement of Derek's heartfelt words.

Trying to ignore the tension, Mark glanced behind Meredith as if waiting for someone walk out the doors. "Where's Finn."

Derek's body tensed at the name of his AD. Ever since spotting Dandridge with his tongue down Meredith's throat last week, Derek made sure the man kept busy. Even offering him extra work on their other projects. Just to spite Meredith, Derek told himself as he denied Finn's request yesterday for time off to attend the memorial service.

She couldn't believe Derek had the audacity to quietly stand there and look innocent. Meredith did a slow burn when Finn called her last night to break the news about having to work today. Mark just doused her in gasoline as Derek tossed the lit match.

"That's a very good question Mark. Where is my boyfriend? Why isn't he here by my side when I need him?" Blinded by rage, Meredith stepped around Mark and directly in front of Derek. Her 3-inch black patent Christian Louboutin pumps left Meredith a few inches shorter than Derek. She tilted her head back to look up at him. "Finn wanted to be here today, but for some strange reason, he had to work." Meredith took a half step forward as her voice rose in volume. "Ask Derek what was so damn important that Finn couldn't be here."

Derek was temporarily stunned to find Meredith's body so close to his, for the first time in a long time. If he exhaled, there would be body contact. Instead he inhaled, drawing in the lavender scent he had been successful in banishing to the distant corners of his memory. He didn't want to think about those memories.

"Calm down Meredith…"

"I will not calm down. My father is dead, and I have to relive his death with each and every phone call, email, floral arrangement, tribute over the past month, and now this memorial service." Heads turned at the sound of her voice. They were attracting attention. "You couldn't give Finn a couple freaking hours to be here for me!"

"Meredith…" Mark tried to step in but Meredith brushed him aside.

"You couldn't give me a couple hours of his god damn time. This is low Derek, even for you." Meredith felt tears sliding down her cheeks but refused to wipe at them. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Where the hell is Alex with the car?

"Hi, I'm sorry I'm late."

Meredith, Derek and Mark turned at the sound of the voice. When Meredith recognized the late arrival, her jaw dropped. She hasn't changed a bit over the years. While Derek denied her the comfort of her boyfriend, he had ensured he wasn't lacking female companionship. Standing there, in head-to-toe black Prada glory, was Addison Montgomery.

"You god damn son of a bitch!"

Derek never saw Meredith's fist coming as it connected with his face.

He did see the camera flash.


	8. Chapter 8

Three things in life got Cristina off

Three things in life got Cristina off. Hot sex with a stranger who didn't expect commitment, new photography equipment, and once in a life time shots. Meredith Grey punching Derek Shepherd had her creaming in her panties. A triumphant Hallelujah had sounded in her head as she snapped photograph after photograph of the tiny Miss Grey laying into one of Hollywood's most eligible bachelors. It had been priceless. It had been better than sex.

The moment was ruined by the vibration of her cell phone on her thigh. Heedless of the stares she was getting she reaches under her skirt to pull the tiny razor thin phone from the garter that kept it strapped to her slender thigh. Izzie. "Did you get any of it?" She demanded. Knowing Izzie she hadn't. She was right. Barbie hadn't gotten any of the fight. No matter. The pictures were what mattered. She had enough of the squabble to provide Izzie with a small story. "Shut up! Britney? Oh yeah. I am so there." She snaps the phone shut, then slides it back where she had retrieved it from.

Izzie was exactly where she had promised to be. Pacing next to the non descript BMW sedan, navy blue in color, that they shared. It was technically her car, but Izzie was the more capable of them at handling the wheel at a high speed. Plus, it left her free to snap photographs. "Ready?"

"Of course," Cristina bit back. "Drive slow though. I have to get out of this damn dress." Izzie rolled her eyes, muttered something under her breath. "Wanna say that louder?" Another roll of the eyes. Cristina scowled, sliding into the backseat. If Izzie found it odd, she said nothing. "So, how certain are you that Britney's going to be there?" Not giving a fuck about the heavy traffic, she tugs the hated dress over her head. There was a small ripping sound that has Izzie wincing, but Cristina doesn't care. It was just a damn dress. One that would never come within an inch of her body again. Laying her head back, she enjoys the cool air blasting from the air conditioning on her sweat soaked skin. A car full of teenage boys pulls up along side them, honking and whistling. Without glancing in their direction she flips them off. Horny pimple faced bastards.

"Very certain. Do you honestly think I would drag your bitchy ass across town if I wasn't?" The irritation in Izzie's voice is apparent. Neither of them were one to hide their emotions. It was as close as they got to be honest.

"You know you want me," Cristina purred. She lifts her ass off the buttery soft leather seat, tugging a pair of cropped brown trousers on. They were a fraction to big, she doesn't care. Nor does she care that the short sleeved blouse she is slipping her arms into is made of a pale pink silk. The outfit doesn't belong to her, but rather the beauteous blonde weaving them in and out of traffic. "Lean up," she orders, scooting across the back seat to sit in the middle. Izzie leans up a bit. Cristina reaches up, sliding the zipper down. "Red or blue?" She held up the two tops that had been lying in the floor board. One was a red satin halter top, the other a brilliant blue camisole with black lace trim.

"Blue," Izzie answers, not even looking. Balancing the steering wheel with her knee, she shimmies her upper body free of the dress. It falls over the steering wheel, revealing the black lace bra she wore underneath. Cristina shoves the camisole over Izzie's head, chuckling when the other woman shrieks at her. "What the fuck? Do you want me to wreck?"

"You're not going to wreck." Cristina grunts, shoving her feet into a pair of chocolate colored wedges. "Skirt or pants? They're both denim. Sorry."

"Eh. Skirt." Another shrieked curse as the short denim mini with the frayed hem landed over her face. "God damn it Cristina!"

"Oh, get over yourself." There was no help for her hair. The heat had frizzed it to the point of being bushy. No getting that mess under a wig. Grimacing she reminds herself that looks are not everything. A big fat lie if ever there was one. In Hollywood, looks were everything. Hence why the barbie driving was her friend. What she couldn't get with her brain, Izzie could get with her cleavage and hundred watt smile.

"You have your story ready?' Izzie asked as she slid the car into an empty parking space. Had they really arrived? Damn.

"Yeah. Going with the tried but true abusive ex husband. I turned to drink to forget the pain. You?" Sliding from the car, she slams the door shut.

"Eh. Not sure. Torn between the fiancee who died because of something I did and the affair with a married friend who refused to leave his bitch of a wife for me." Her voice was muffled a bit as she pulled hair pins from her hair. The thick golden tresses fall around her shoulders in a sexy disarray. Bitch. Always looked hot.

"Go with the fiancee. You look like the type to cut an LVAD wire or something." Both snicker as they start towards the sprawling rehabilitation center. Behind them a dark tinted limousine honks, followed by the slamming of a door.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" The enraged demand them both turning. Nothing better than a scene outside a rehab. The furious face of Alex Karev glared back at him. "First you cozy up to him at the memorial, and now you're here. I want to know why? Can't you guys ever take a damn break from making people's lives miserable?"

"I'll meet you inside," Izzie murmurs. Cristina hesitates, then nods. As she walks toward the front entrance she can hear the heated voices. When she hears Izzie shout, she looks over her shoulder in time to see the only person who came close to bearing the title friend being shoved into the back of the limousine.


	9. Chapter 9

A semi-trembling hand raises to touch hesitant finger tips to the already swollen and bruised skin beneath his left eye. It was with gritted teeth that he had held his tongue. While Karev had raced across the parking lot, restraining Meredith in time to prevent another punch from connecting with his face; while stood in stunned silence; while Addison had put on an Oscar winning performance of horror for the press that descended like vultures; while all that had gone on, he had held his tongue. Not an easy task for someone like him.

"You poor baby," Addison crooned. The heady scent of her perfume threatens to overwhelm him as she presses her body against his side. Pissed off as he was at her, he still missed the subtle lavender scent that was Meredith. Nothing overwhelming there. Except her punch, he thinks sourly. He flinches slightly as Addison trails one blood red nail down his cheek. He could feel her hot breath on his ear, her breasts rubbing against his arm. The breasts were firmer since the last time he had felt them. If he were to look they would most likely be rounder as well. Plastic surgery junkie, that was what Mark called Addison behind her back. Hell, he might even call her that to her face. Who knew with those two? Not him. He didn't want to. "I can't believe that little bitch had the nerve to attack you that way!"

"Her father just died." Derek wasn't sure why he felt the need to defend Meredith. God knew she didn't deserve it. Laying his head back, he lets his eyes drift shut for a moment. An image of an eighteen year old Meredith laughing on the beach comes unbidden. His eyes fly open.

"Hm. Still. No need for her to go all gangsta on you." Addison chuckled, moving closer to him. Her dress rides up on her thighs as she lets one knee rest on the upper portion of his leg. His hand automatically slides up the silky skin exposed. "Mark is making noise about casting some newcomer named Sydney Herron as Emily in The Anatomy of Love."

Somehow he had known this was coming. He didn't have it in him to distract her. "She fits the role." He lets his hand slide further up her thigh. She responded by fully straddling his lap.

"Does she?" Almost too thin arms reach up to undo the small buttons holding the halter style bodice of her gown up. The dark material pools around her waist, the twin globes of her full breasts inches from his face. She rolls her hips, rubbing her damp cleft across his linen covered erection. "Does she really have what you need?"

Derek rubs his thumb across the swollen clit that was barely covered by a scrap of black satin. One good tug and the string broke. In automatic motions he undid his belt buckle, then his pants. The moment his erection was free and he had slid a condom down the length of it, Addison lowered herself onto is shaft, moaning. It wasn't a real moan. He wasn't sure if she was even capable of real feelings anymore. Everything was an act, a part. Which suited him just fine. As long as it wasn't real on her end, it didn't have to be real on his. He could close his eyes and imagine that the woman sliding her wetness up and down the length of his cock was a slender waif of a woman with honey blonde hair and green eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

_Singing in the Rain (lyrics by Arthur Freed and music by Nacio Herb Brown, performed by Gene Kelly)_

_Doo-dloo-doo-doo-doo_

_Doo-dloo-doo-doo-doo-doo_

_Doo-dloo-doo-doo-doo-doo_

_Doo-dloo-doo-doo-doo-doo..._

_I'm singing in the rain_

_Just singing in the rain_

_What a glorious feelin'_

_I'm happy again_

_I'm laughing at clouds_

_So dark up above_

_The sun's in my heart_

_And I'm ready for love_

_Let the stormy clouds chase_

_Everyone from the place_

_Come on with the rain_

_I've a smile on my face_

_I walk down the lane_

_With a happy refrain_

_Just singin',_

_Singin' in the rain_

_Dancin' in the rain_

_Dee-ah dee-ah dee-ah_

_Dee-ah dee-ah dee-ah_

_I'm happy again!_

_I'm singin' and dancin' in the rain!_

_I'm dancin' and singin' in the rain..._

Meredith's feet tapped in time with Gene Kelly's as he sang and danced in the rain with an umbrella. "Singing In The Rain" was Thatcher Grey's favorite movie musical, and Meredith lost count of the number of times she's watched it with her father over the years. She could almost perform the signature dance number in her sleep. The telling of how sound came to Hollywood in the 1920s via Gene Kelly's graceful athletic footwork, Debbie Reynolds' youthful beauty and Donald O'Connor's comedic talent always left Thatcher and Meredith in awe and stitches. Now, two weeks after his memorial service, Meredith needed to watch Thatcher's favorite movie musical. Comfortable on the couch in her favorite threadbare jeans with holes in the knees, worn UCLA t-shirt and an old cardigan sweater of Thatcher's still carrying traces of his cologne, Meredith settled the large popcorn bowl on her lap.

"Could you please pass the popcorn?"

Grabbing another handful of buttery popcorn, Meredith passed the bowl to Robyn.

"Did you leave any butter in the kitchen?" Robyn noticed the extra shine of the kernels before they disappeared into Meredith's mouth. "We'll need it to make dinner."

"Mmphf,"

"Is that a yes?"

Shooting Robyn a pseudo dirty look, Meredith nodded.

"Did you have to hit him?"

Shooting Robyn a genuine dirty look, Meredith nodded again.

Sitting on the coffee table open to the four-color photograph of Derek's Technicolor shiner, Robyn reached for the edition of National Enquirer Meredith did her best to ignore.

"Do you know what you're going to say to Derek when you see him tomorrow?"

Stuffing another handful of buttery popcorn in her mouth, Meredith kept her eyes on Gene, Debbie and Donald. Sidney Thompson, Thatcher's attorney and executor of his estate, wanted to see Meredith and Derek tomorrow morning in his office to discuss a few items relating to Thatcher's estate.

Meredith made sure she swallowed before answering to avoid choking. "There's nothing to say to that ass!"

"Not even a 'thank you' for giving you a reason to break up with Finn?" Robyn smirked.

Meredith threw a handful of kernels at Robyn. "I didn't break up with Finn, he broke up with me and you know it." Secretly, Meredith had been relieved Finn saved her the trouble of pulling the plug on their relationship. He was nice, and had shown a glimmer of possible promise of something more until he put his career before her by bowing to the great Derek Shepard. Finn called the day after the service, from LAX, waiting to board a flight to London with other MWP crew members, and told Meredith not to wait for him. Meredith wished him well and a safe trip. She never knew when she might work with him in the future. Hollywood was a small town.

There was a time when Derek had shown oh so much more than a glimmer of promise, before everything came crashing down.


	11. Chapter 11

Summer 1997 - Part 1

The ocean stretched on forever. The blueness of the Pacific was Meredith's favorite color. And her dad's Malibu bungalow her favorite vantage point to admire it from. Perched near the edge of a bluff, the older, white two-story structure offered a panoramic view of the ocean and Malibu colony.

Though the almost 60-year old home wasn't as large, or shiny and modern as its neighbors, it had been rumored to be a trysting place for Clark Gable and Carole Lombard before their marriage in 1939. That Old Hollywood connection was enough for Thatcher Grey. He always had a love of The Classics, which had been passed down to his daughter Meredith.

Meredith leaned back in the oversized chaise lounger, discretely tucking her bottle of beer underneath it in hopes of hiding it from her dad. Thatcher, and the State of California, thought her tender age of 18 as too young for Meredith to partake of any alcohol. Oh well. What Dad didn't know won't hurt him.

The opening and closing of the sliding patio door brought loud party sounds as Thatcher Grey stepped out onto the large deck. It wasn't much of a shock to him that Meredith was alone – his guests were staying close to the alcohol and food inside.

"Hi sweetheart," Thatcher seated himself on the other lounger. "I thought you were going to change?"

Her face hidden behind sunglasses, Meredith turned her head toward Thatcher. "Um. I forgot." She really didn't. There wasn't anything wrong with the black bikini covering her body. It was modest compared to what women were wearing on the beach below, and in the living room behind her. Her white tank top and jean shorts sat on the lounger next to Thatcher.

"I know you didn't forget. You graduated at the top of your class. I was there for your valedictorian speech. You don't forget things."

Meredith grinned sheepishly. It was hard to pull anything over on him. "No one is going to ravish me, Dad! I said 'hello' to everyone earlier, and no one has been out here in over an hour. I'm comfortable."

Thatcher tossed the tank top and shorts to Meredith. "Humor me."

Rolling her eyes, Meredith donned the articles of clothing. Like the bikini, the tank top and shorts clung to her curves.

"I may work with these people, but it doesn't mean I like them. And it doesn't mean I want my daughter to associate with them." Thatcher sighed. "This is not a friendly town, Meredith. There are people inside our house who would rather slit my throat than see my next project succeed. Or use each other to advance their careers. I don't want them to get to me through you."

Meredith turned to look at the large patio doors lining the rear of the house. She could see the crush of people. "Then why are you feeding with them?"

"While you keep your friends close, you keep your enemies even closer. I have to work with these people." Thatcher ruffled the top of Meredith's head before heading back inside.

Meredith cringed at what her dad would say if he knew she wanted to work with him. Inheriting Thatcher's love of movies, and making them, Meredith wanted to work behind the camera. Her plan of delaying college for a year-long internship with her Uncle Artie's newly formed Orion Pictures wouldn't sit very well with her dad. Ellis, also known as the female parental unit, could care less since Ellis never allowed Meredith's plans to interfere with her lifestyle. Meredith learned early on to keep her plans separate from Ellis'. Hopefully Uncle Artie could convince her dad to allow Meredith to pursue the internship.

Sighing, Meredith grabbed her towel, and padded across the patio to the stairs leading to the beach below. She suddenly needed hot sand under her feet.

Outside the buffered protection of the patio, the ocean breeze was cool and strong against Meredith's body. Like being wrapped in a layer of silk. For late in the afternoon, the beach was surprisingly empty. Pulling the long strands of dirty blonde hair from her face, Meredith slowly walked to the ocean's edge so she could splash in the foamy water, careful to keep her towel dry. Thankful no one was around to see her, she giggled at thought of a grown up woman playing in the surf.


	12. Chapter 12

Summer 1997 – Part Two

Derek Shepard wandered along the surf's edge collecting his thoughts. He was over an hour late to the party, which was considered early by Hollywood standards. If anyone had asked, he'd deny it but Derek was nervous about meeting Thatcher Grey. While Mark was off chasing tail, Derek agreed to meet with Thatcher about investing in their first film project, "Shelter From The Storm." He hoped this would be his ticket out of the minor fame he found in film. His semi-nude scene with Addison Montgomery in "Seduction" brought them both some attention, but not the kind he wanted. "Seduction" was his first professional acting job, and he had no control over how his character presented onscreen. Derek Shepard wanted to be known as a Producer/Director. Not an actor. He wanted control.

Her giggle caught his attention. Glancing up and stopping in his tracks, Derek watched as the young woman played in the surf. Smiling at her obvious enjoyment, Derek appreciated how her long legs glistened with salt water and damp shorts hugged her shapely hips. The splashing caused her white tank top to become semi-transparent, making her black bikini top noticeable from a few feet away. He held his breath as the wind whipped her long blonde hair about. His hands itched to smooth the hair from her face. Flexing his fingers, Derek shoved his hands in his pockets.

Sensing she was being watched, Meredith stopped splashing and looked up. He was standing a few feet away just out of the surf's reach, hands tucked in the front pockets of his jeans. Meredith thought his hair could use a slight trim as the wind pushed his dark curls in different directions. His black cotton short-sleeve t-shirt conformed nicely to his muscled torso and biceps. The tightening of her nipples had nothing to do with the crisp ocean breeze or cold salt water, and the dampness of her shorts had nothing to do with the spraying surf. "Wow" was the only word filling her mind at the moment.

The nervousness over meeting Thatcher Grey, irritation at Mark bailing to score some tail, and worry over tomorrow's audition all faded away as Derek stepped closer to the water nymph. His water nymph.

"Hi."

Meredith liked his voice. Deep, with a very nice tone to it. Almost as nice as his smile. Both, she recognized, had the ability to turn her knees to jelly. She smiled as she brushed her hair away from her face.

"Hi."

What her giggle and body started, her voice and smile quickly completed. Derek's cock came to full attention as the feminine sound surrounded him. His fingers absently touched his erection as it pushed against his pocket. The thought of her fingers and lips wrapping tightly around him was not far from his mind.

The setting sun cast a yellow-reddish glow across the horizon and the lone occupants of the beach. Derek was thankful for the oncoming darkness to help disguise his embarrassing condition. Drawing a deep, steadying breath, he couldn't remember the last time a woman had this kind of effect on him.

As he stepped closer, Meredith noticed the color of his eyes. Her favorite color. Pacific Blue.

"I'm Derek."

"I'm Meredith."

_end of flashback_


	13. Chapter 13

There was an unspoken rule between the two of them. Don't ask, don't tell. Simple. Easy to remember, easy to follow. It was the one thing that kept their friendship honest. As honest as it could be, considering that neither one of them knew the first thing about being truly open. Once upon a time they had, but now, well now, Hollywood had jaded them to the don't ask, don't tell sort of honesty.

Izzie rests her cheek on the arm of the soft micro fiber sofa that dominated the small living room of the bungalow she shared with Cristina. Just this once she wished that Cristina would break the don't ask, don't tell rule. Just this once she wished her friend would grill her for details. Demand to know what happened. Hell, Izzie herself would love to know what the fuck had happened.

His fingers dug into her upper arm, squeezing in until she could feel his blunt nails pressing into her skin. Her blood roared in her ears as he none to gently shoved her into the back of the limo. There had been rumors of Alex Karev's temper, she had just never believed him to be so volatile until now. There was pure rage boiling in his caramel colored eyes.

"What the fuck is your problem!" She yelled. The edge of a seat slammed into the small of her back, sending a jolt of pain ricocheting down her legs. She scrambles across the plush carpeting, shaking fingers fumbling with the opposite door handle. It refused to open. She tries again, letting out a frustrated shriek. "Open the doors! Now!"

"No." There was no emotion in the short response. A chill runs down her spine. "You and I are going to have a nice little chat about why you keep showing up where ever my father is."

Jackson. This was about Jackson? He was man handling and forcing her into a vehicle against her will because of his father? "Last time I checked, this is a free country. I can go where ever I fucking want. I can talk to whoever I damn well please."

"Not if I file a restraining order. Which, I am tempted to do. You're familiar with those, I'm sure." Cocky ass son of a bitch! Jackson was delusional if he honestly thought she would ever go for a prick like the man lounged on the seat above her. Aside from the handsome face and a body that oozed chiseled perfection there wasn't a damn thing likable about Alex.

"Yes. Let's go file a restraining order. Let's go right now. That way I can file assault and kidnapping charges!"

"You're not dressed." Cristina's blunt remark has Izzie raising her head to find her friend standing in front of the mirror next to the front door. It was oval shape, with a dull black metal frame that matched the curling metal legs of the mahogany side table beneath it.

"Yeah. Not sure I'm up to going out tonight." Rolling onto her back, she presses a hand to her lower abdomen, still tender. The unsatisfied ache between her legs was still there as well. She raises her knees, then lifts one long slender leg to study the ruby colored polish on her toenails. It almost perfectly matched the dress that clung to Cristina's slender body.

An odd look crosses Cristina's face as she applies a thin layer of cherry colored lipstick. She set sets the tube down on the table, then turns to face Izzie. "Look, I know we have that rule. The one where we don't ask, don't tell, but I'm worried about you. You seem…I don't know…a bit off since the whole…incident with Karev. Do you want to talk about it?" It was as close as she would get to girly chattering. It was also hard for her to admit.

Izzie bites her lip. Should she? Should she come clean? Tell Cristina what had happened?

Use what God gave you. How many times had her grandmother drilled that into her head. While Granny Stevens had been talking about her brain, Izzie was going to put the advice to use using the other asset God had given her. She had done it before, taunting a man to get what she wanted. And what she wanted was out of this damn limo. Talking was getting her no where. Nothing she said got through. Alex was convinced she was using his father.

A slow smile curves across her lips. "We're wasting a lot of energy on something we're not going to agree on," she purred. All she needed was to get close to the main controls. One quick flick of a button and she would be free. The limo hadn't moved an inch during their heated exchange.

"And what should we be using that energy on?" There was a knowing smirk on his face. Bastard. He was so use to getting what he wanted that he had been expecting this. Well fine, no need to disappoint. She would use his conceit, and his obvious lust for her cleavage to her advantage.

"Hm. I wonder," Her smile took on a more seductive look. One she had perfected over the years. Ignoring the racing of her heart, she crawled into a kneeling position before him. The racing in her heart accelerated when the palms of her hands moved along his thighs to his belt buckle. She wouldn't have to follow through. Just get him distracted enough that he didn't notice her unlocking the doors.

Her breath catches in her throat as he catches both her wrists in one hand. The knowing smirk becomes more focused, as he releases the hold he had on her wrists. He doesn't let her take control again, instead he glides his hands down the sides of her trembling body. When they reached her waist he pulls her up, straddling her across his lap. Through the thin silk of her panties and the soft linen of his trousers she can feel his erection rubbing against her aching slit. He rolled his hips, pressing his swollen cock even closer to her already damp flesh. Slipping one hand between their bodies, he presses his thumb against her clit, earning him a small whimper. He continues to toy with her, slipping the tip of a finger into her wet slit.

This was the perfect opportunity. He was distracted. All she had to do was move her hands off his chest and hit the button. Her hands move, but not toward the door. Instead they travel south. Two years. It had been two years since the last time she had fucked someone. That was the only cohesive thought running through her mind. Shaking fingers undo the buckle of his belt, then the button and zipper of his trousers. She cups him through the thin cotton material of his navy blue boxers. He felt hard, thick, and much larger than the other two men she had slept with. A thrill of excitement courses through her body as she pulls him free from the boxers. The thrill doubles when she feels him pulling the crotch of her panties aside.

A moan of satisfaction fills the back of the limo as he starts to ease his way into her tight entrance. God, he felt good, stretching her, filling her. She lets out a small cry as he thrusts deep, the tip of his cock hitting against her cervix. His smirk returns as he starts to withdrawal only to thrust deep again. So he thought he had the upper hand in this? Ha. Not likely. She adjusts the angle of her body, meeting his every thrust. Neither of them gave a second thought to the driver on the other side of the glass or that they hated each other. The need to prove who had power and control had taken on a life of its own, their bodies enjoying the struggle.

Giving one last cry Izzie let her body slack against his. His forehead rested against her's. She felt his hands move, thinking he was about to pull her close. Then she heard it. The click of the locks. She froze, the blood running through her body going cold as he scoots away from the door. As he scooted he urged her off his lap. Not looking at her, he adjusts his clothing. "You can leave ," he says in a bland tone. She sits there in shock for a moment before doing as he suggested. The moment she opened the door she heard the familiar click of a camera going off.

"I fucked up Cris," Izzie said in a husky voice, hating the tears that threatened to fall. "I fucked up royally."

"Yeah. I know." Cristina lowers her body onto the trunk that served as their coffee table. "I wasn't going to show you this, but…" She pulls a rival rag mag out from under the sofa, handing it to Izzie. On the cover was the photograph that had been snapped of her getting out of Alex's limo. There was no room for doubt as to what they had been doing.

"Oh God," Izzie cried. The headline was almost as bad as the photograph. 'NE Reporter Guarantees Story' by Olivia Smythe-Jones. 'This reporter finds it disgusting the things…and people…Isobel Stevens will do for a story.'

"She's a jealous bitch. And the best way to deal with this is to just say fuck it. Fuck Olivia, fuck Alex, fuck the whole situation. You're going to get up, get dressed and we're going to that party." Cristina grabbed her arm, hauling her to her feet.

Cristina was right. Fuck them. Fuck them all. Most especially, fuck Alex Karev. Sorry ass bastard.


	14. Chapter 14

Talent was over rated. The world was full of people who oozed talent, some had so much it was painful to even watch them. Their talent got them no where though. No where. If someone wanted to make it big they had to be beautiful. Beautiful name. Beautiful face. Beautiful body.

Addie Mae Moore had figured that out a long time ago, back in her pink floral wall papered bedroom in Ohio. With her mousy brown hair, size 32A breasts, and a name like Addie Mae she had known she would never be one of the glamorous stars that everyone gushed over and rushed to see. If she wanted to be someone she was going to have to become one of the beautiful people. A bottle of hair dye named Cinnamon envy, a boob job that took her three years to pay off, and the help of a shady lawyer to change her name had turned Addie Mae into one of the beautiful people. It had turned her into Addison Forbes Montgomery. The shady lawyer, by the name of Herb, had done more than help her change her name. It had been in his too small, smelly office on a cracked vinyl couch with her eyes squeezed shut that Addison learned that what was between her legs mattered more than money or talent. It had hurt like hell, letting that fat fifty year old man pop her cherry in exchange for the new name but it had been worth it.

'So worth it,' Addison mused, running her hands over the swell over her large breasts and down the front of her leopard print lamb skin dress. She no longer had to rely on a bottle of Cinnamon Envy, a saucy Puerto Rican man named Ricky took care of her long glossy red hair. Nor did she have to make payment arrangements when she got the urge to improve her body, a nice fat bank account insured that. Her pussy was still her biggest asset though. Every single lead she had ever had the pleasure of landing had been because she had let some prick shove his dick inside her. She didn't care. Not really. They got what they wanted, and she got what she wanted. Sometimes, if she was lucky, she got off as well.

"Nice turn out for a DVD launch," she purred, sliding her arm through that of her date. A smug smile twisted her full lips as she tightened her hold on Alex. He was one of the few who hadn't taken advantage of what she had to offer. That would change though. Tonight, if she played her cards right. He was a bit broody, given that some unknown reporter and photographer had snapped a picture of that bitch reporter Isobel Stevens getting out of his limo and him with his cock still out. A black box with censored had denied the world the view of what he had to offer.

"Yeah. I guess." If Alex sounded less than enthusiastic Addison didn't notice or care. She was to busy scanning the room. Her sapphire gaze lands on Mark Sloan. Now there was someone who gave as good as he got. Her gaze hardens when she realizes the slender brunette gracing his arm was none other than Sydney Herron.

"What the fuck is he doing with her?" The question wasn't directed toward anyone in particular. Nor did she care if they answered her. Yanking her arm away from Alex's she storms toward Mark, wobbling a few times on her five inch heels. If that little bitch thought she was getting the part of Emily she had better think again!


	15. Chapter 15

Tomorrow would be hell. Sitting in the dark, with Singing In The Rain flickering across the television screen, scotch glass in hand, Derek had come to that conclusion. The side of his face throbbed, and his ego, as well as his pride, was bruised beyond repair. At least immediate repair. He knew the bruising on his face would fade, and some other scandal would come along, making Meredith beating the shit out of him outside her father's memorial yesterday's news. As for his ego, well it would heal. An Oscar would go a long way in the healing process.

Taking a sip he averts his interest back toward the movie. Ironically enough the woman who had beat him had also turned him onto this particular film.

_"How can you not like old musicals? You want to be a good director, you need to learn from the greats. You don't get much greater than this!" Meredith waved her arm toward the movie playing on the television before them. Her body was cuddled up next to his, her head resting on his chest. The waving hand fluttered the space above his heart, the slender fingers trailing downward. He sucks in his breath as she rolls the tip of one finger over his nipple. He covers her hand with his._

"Don't. Not unless you're going to back it up." He was halfway teasing. In the time they had been sneaking around they had come so close, so close, to making love. Each time she had stopped him. God, he wanted to make love to her. To feel her body beneath his as he slid in and out of her.

"Maybe I do. Maybe this time I want to back it up." Meredith whispered the words against his lips.

"Damn it!" He lifts the remote, shutting the movie off. He couldn't' shut the memories off. He couldn't shut off the images of the two of them making love for the first time with that movie playing in the background. He couldn't shut off the rage that came with the image of Finn touching her the way he had touched her. It was only a small consolation that he had been there first, that he had been the one to introduce her to the art of love making. With her it had been an art, each and every time a master piece. So much more than two bodies finding physical release.

Muttering another curse, Derek hauls back the arm holding the glass of brandy and hurls it. The sound of breaking glass fills the room as it shatters against the stone wall. Tomorrow would be hell.


	16. Chapter 16

Coming here had been a bad idea. Coming here with Addison had been a mistake. He had done it as favor to Meredith. 'Find out what her relationship with Derek is,' Meredith had pleaded. Why the hell Mer even cared what that prick Shepherd did with Addison went beyond his capacity to understand.

Scrubbing a hand down his face Alex toys with the idea of ditching his unwanted date and heading home. There was nothing here for him. It was just another launch, like any other launch he had been to. Yeah, Semi-Charmed Life was a decent show, he had even watched it a few times, but it didn't change the fact that he felt like shit and didn't want to make nice. This whole fiasco with that reporter, Isobel Stevens, had the gears in his mind spinning and grinding. The nasty ass chewing his father had given him first thing this morning hadn't helped.

"Yes, that's her." The hissing behind him deepened his frown. In a room full of celebrity 'her's' it was hard to pinpoint who they were talking about. "It makes you wonder how many other men she's fucked to get a story." Fuck. They were talking about Isobel Stevens. His gaze scans the packed night club, stopping only when he finds a familiar blonde arguing with a Korean woman. Her hair was pulled up tight the sides with the front poofed a bit. The back had streaks of glitter, and was half crimped, half straight. The glitter also seemed to be on every bare inch of flesh that her slinky fuchsia dress didn't cover, which was quite a bit.

All around him more and more people were starting to talk. Forget whispering, they were openly crucifying her, damning her professionally. Scowling, he mutters a curse under his breath before calling out her name. It took several tries to catch her attention, and him moving closer. Much closer. "Play along," he murmurs in her ear, pulling her close. "I'm glad you could make it." He presses a kiss to her cheek, inhaling the scent of tangerines that seemed to linger on her skin.

"Uh, sure. I told you that I would?" There was hesitancy, as well as unspoken questions, in her voice. It felt good though, holding her close. She pulled back much sooner than he would have liked, leaving him with a puzzling sense of loss.

"Yeah. I know. Just glad to see you." He sounded like such a fucktard. Damn it. "My lawyer is going to talk to The Hollywood Insider. Get them to print a retraction for the lies they printed." Mentally he reminds himself to have the in-house lawyer do just that. A light lit up in Isobel's eyes, and she gave him the same mega watt smile he had seen her flash at so many parties. Amazing that he had never really noticed her before now.

"Good. I hope they fire Holivia." This was the first he had heard the Korean woman speak. There was a hard edge to her voice, one that warned people not to fuck with her. Strangely he liked her.

"Cristina," Isobel hissed, shaking her head. "What have I told you about calling her that."

"Can it Izzie. The woman is a ho bag. Sucking guys off to get the inside scoop. She had some brass balls in her panties to say what she did about you." Cristina took a sip from the martini glass she held in one hand. "And don't start in on me about not knowing that for sure. I do know. I seen the little cunt sucking off Senator Westing before that big expose she wrote on transsexual prostitutes being hired as entertainment for several Republican house members."

"Wait. She gives head to get stories but still wrote that shit about you?" Alex wrinkled his brow. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Hypocrites. Every last one of them. The bitch who wrote the article, the people around the whispering, every last one of them were hypocrites.

"We don't know that! We don't know that she does that, Cristina!" Izzie, he had gone to thinking of her as Izzie since Cristina had said the name, said. It suited her. At least the side of her he was seeing right now.

"Whatever. Speaking of getting a little something something, don't wait up for me tonight. I have every intention of getting so fucked up that I let some guy take me home." With that she flounced off, trading her empty martini glass for a full one when a waiter past with a tray full.

"She always like that?" Alex downed what was left of his own drink, passing the champagne flute off to the same waiter Cristina had traded her drink with.

"Always. It's one of the reasons I love her." Izzie looked at him. "Not in that way either. And don't say you didn't think it, everyone always thinks it. I don't care though. Usually comes in handy. The guys leave you alone that way." She stares at him a moment longer before starting a scan of the room. Her eyes go wide. "Oh my God! It's her!" One slender hand grabs his forearm, the nails digging in a bit.

Alex follows her gaze. Across the room, in a black vinyl bustier, purple velvet skirt that barely covered her crotch, fishnets and thigh high boots was one of Hollywood's much loved porn stars. With long dark hair twisted into intricate knots, blood red lipstick and a spiked dog collar around her neck Summer Dayz was hot in a kinky S & M kind of way. "Her? That's Summer."

"I don't give a fuck what her name is, I just need to get close enough to get a picture and ask her some questions. Come on." Using the grip she already has on his arm she tugs him in Summer's direction. What the fuck was she interested in a porn star for? As best he knew Summer kept to herself. The only fucking she did was on camera. Summer said something to the person next to her then headed toward the exit. Izzie was right behind her, still dragging him along.

"Why the hell are we following a porn star?" There were better things to do with their time. Such as maybe a repeat of yesterday, minus him telling her to get out. Hands down, best sex he had ever had. Thinking about an encore had his dick hard.

"Because, she's the woman who was with Thatcher when he died!"


	17. Chapter 17

"Can't we do this without him?"

"No Meredith."

"Are you sure Uncle Tommy? Can't you send him a letter recapping our meeting?"

The lawyer chuckled at Meredith's use of her childhood nickname for him. She was pulling out all the stops to avoid being in the same room with Derek Shepard. Sidney Thompson shook his head and studied the document in his hand. The Last Will and Testament of Thatcher Nickolai Grey. "No Meredith. Your father left specific instructions about a few items that must be discussed with you and Derek." She cringed at his stressing the word 'and.'

Incredibly annoyed, Meredith sat back in the black leather chair. Crossing her silk stocking-clad legs, she tugged on the hem of her lined black skirt. The stupid thing kept sliding back and showing more thigh than she wanted her uncle to see. In addition to providing legal services to Thatcher, Sidney Thompson had been best man at her parents' wedding. He has always been "Uncle Tommy" to her.

"He's late."

Noting the anger underlining Meredith's voice when Shepard was the topic, Sidney kicked himself for not questioning Thatcher more closely when he first updated the will six months ago, and again last month. Eyeing the crystal decanter on the corner of his desk closest to Meredith, Sidney moved it to a shelf behind his desk.

"Sidney?" The voice of his secretary carried across the desk.

"Yes Emma?" Sidney pressed the intercom button.

"Derek Shepard is here."

"Good. Send him in." Sidney frowned in warning to Meredith as he rose to greet the younger man.

"Derek," Sidney extended his hand in greeting. "I appreciate you taking time out of your schedule."

"I'm sorry I'm late. And I apologize for the casual look." Derek gestured to himself. "Filming this morning ran over and I didn't have time to chance into something more meeting appropriate."

Meredith rolled her eyes and tried not to remember the last time she had seen Derek. At her father's memorial service with Addison "Fuck Me" Montgomery glued to his side. Her right hand flexed, as if itching to make contact with his face again.

"Meredith."

She reluctantly looked up at the sound of her name. Derek. He was careful to keep his chair between them. At least he had the decency to throw a blazer over his button-down shirt to dress up his faded jeans. Derek rocked the jacket and jeans look. He always had.

Glancing at his face, Meredith noted his eye still looked painful two weeks later. She never realized until now the damage she did. Robyn had tried unsuccessfully for a week to make Meredith look at the tabloid photo. And Derek used to tease her about her tiny, ineffectual fists. She smiled.

Derek recognized the smile curling Meredith's lips. Her satisfied smile. He had seen it once before. Ten years ago. But he wasn't going to revisit the past. He couldn't. Taking a seat, Derek turned his attention to Sidney.

"Meredith," Sidney cleared his throat. "As you know, the bulk of Thatcher's estate and business interests are in trusts…"

"And since you're executor of his estate, and business advisor, all roads lead to you," Meredith nodded. "I know. But what I don't know is why he is here." She jerked a thumb in Derek's direction. "My father's estate is none of his business."

Derek counted to three before turning to Meredith. "Give me a break, Mer. I have no idea why I'm here. All I know is that Thatcher wanted me here."

"Don't call me that!"

"What?"

"Mer," Meredith sneered. "You don't have the right to call me that." She turned away. "You lost that right a long time ago."

Did she really say that? That he lost the right? He lost the right? How in the hell did he lose the right? Derek opened his mouth to say more when he was interrupted by Sidney.

"Do you kids need a time out? I have another meeting in about 45 minutes, so I'd like to finish up. Then you two can kill each other on your own time." Sidney struggled to keep a stern look on his face as he watched Derek and Meredith glare at each other. He asked Thatcher a few years ago why Meredith hated Shepard so much, but Thatcher hadn't known why.

The raspy sound of silk stockings drew Derek's attention to Meredith's legs. He couldn't help but watch as one long, lean leg crossed over the other, the silky slide of her opaque stockings reaching his ears. Visually tracing upward from the tip of her black open-toed pump, thin ankle and calf, over the smooth bump of her knee and along the generous amount of thigh towards the hem of the short black skirt.

Meredith shifted in her seat as a warmth seemed to be slowly trailing up her leg, over her knee and across her thigh. Slightly turning her head towards Derek, Meredith noticed his attention was fixed on her skirt, which had ridden up yet again. With a hard yank, Meredith pulled the hem back towards her knee. Derek couldn't suppress a chuckle. It's not anything he hasn't seen – or touched – before.

_Summer 1997_

_"Mer," Derek sighed as he settled back onto the oversized patio lounger. "This is nice." Fresh from the pool, water dripped from his muscular form onto cushion. Trying to ignore the clammy feel of his wet trunks, Derek pulled Meredith against his body, biting his lip as her bikini-clad bottom rubbed against his semi-erect penis._

_"I think you've mentioned that already," Meredith giggled as she curled up in the vee made by his semi-reclining figure, her back resting against his bare chest. "Twice." She was glad he couldn't see the wicked curve of her lips as she wiggled slightly. Meredith relished the feel of his hardening body, which her body was increasingly interested in knowing. At the ripe old age of 18, Meredith was a little embarrassed to admit that she still retained her virginity. From the stories Meredith heard from her girlfriends, she had never wanted her first time to be a drunken romp in the backseat of some jock's car overlooking Lookout Point. Quite honestly, she hadn't met a guy who interested her in that way. Until now. Meredith was amazed at how much Derek interested her. But she wasn't sure how Derek would take the news of her intact state._

_"I can't help it," Derek tightened his grip around Meredith's body, bringing her even closer, if possible, against his hardening one. "I love the feel of your body against mine." He pressed his mouth against her hair. Derek knew exactly the little teasing game she was playing, and it made him chuckle. He wasn't the man-whoring game player Mark was, but Derek certainly knew his way around the female body. He and Meredith had flirted around sex, but not discussed it. He'd bet his part of MW Productions that Meredith was still a virgin. Derek almost blushed as he thought territorial he felt over her and how fiercely he wanted to bury himself in her soft body. The phrase "for ever" made itself known again in the back of his mind._

_Meredith shivered, and Derek felt the beginnings of goose bumps along her smooth skin. "Are you cold?" He whispered in her ear, his hands gliding up and down her arms. She was wearing his favorite bikini, the black one she wore when they met on the beach. He smiled as Meredith shook her wet head in denial. Glancing down at her chest, he noticed the pebbled tips of her breasts jutting out under the black fabric. Moving his arm to rest against her legs, his hand brushed against the tip of her breast, which pebbled even more in response._

_The Palm Springs desert air was arid in the late afternoon, the setting sun sending streaks of color across the horizon. Meredith was spending two weeks in the desert house sitting for her Uncle Tommy. Missing each other fiercely after only two days, Derek made the two-hour drive south to visit her. They were a month into their fledgling relationship, and everything was still happy and shiny. Derek had been waiting for the right moment to take their relationship to the next level. Would this be it? _

[end flashback]

"...of MW Productions."

The name of his production company brought Derek back to the present time. He glanced from the shocked look on Meredith's face to the lawyer. "I'm sorry Sidney, what did you say?"

"Thatcher left his interest in MW Productions to Meredith."

Derek fell back against his chair. "Meredith owns half my company?"


	18. Chapter 18

The double crossing son of a bitch. For the last ten years he had kissed Thatcher's ass, worse he had called the man his friend. For what? So the sorry ass mother fucker could go back on his word. So the manipulative schemer could leave half of his company to his bitch of a daughter. What the hell did Meredith know about producing a movie? Jack shit, that was what Meredith knew. No doubt she was on Sidney's desk doing a jig. If she had wanted a way to grab him by the balls, Thatcher had just handed it to her.

Sliding the black lens glasses down over his stormy blue eyes, Derek pushed open the smoky glass doors that led out of the building where Sidney's office was housed. In Sidney's defense he had tried to get Meredith to sell, had even brought up the fact that Thatcher had promised to sell his share of the company back to Mark and Derek. Smug little bitch, she looked at him and said a resounding 'No.' He could still hear her the smirk in her voice, could still see that icy cold look of triumph in her eyes.

The peal of his blackberry startles him, pulling him partially for the depths of rage he had allowed himself to sink into. "What?" He barked out. He had no reason to be polite. Fuck whoever had the nerve to call him. Granted, he could have, and should have, looked at the caller I.D. before answering.

"I need for you to do something for me," Mark snickers on the other line. "I need you to reach around, get a good grip on whatever you have shoved up your ass, and give it a good yank. Once you've done that I need you to get your ass to the Polo Lounge. Harvey and Richard are going to meet us there. Talk shop and all that good shit."

"God damn it Mark, can't you handle something on your own for once?" Derek snarled. The whole point in having a partner was to not have to do it all on his own. Mark was about as useless as a third nipple. He scrubs a hand down his still tense, still scowling face. He wasn't being entirely fair. Mark had made it no secret that he wasn't good at smoozing people out of money. Women and their panties, yes. Derek was the face of trust all investors wanted to see. "Give me a few to cool down, then I'll be there," he says with a sigh. He ignores Mark's question of what the fuck is wrong with him and strides towards the gun metal grey Audi that he had parked right in front. "God damn it!" Stuck on the windshield was a ticket. He yanks it off, crumples it up and throws it in the floorboard of the convertible. Today couldn't get any worse.


	19. Chapter 19

_[We want to thank everyone for reading, and those for commenting. The comments are greatly appreciated. And after last night's episode, we have to say 'you're dead Denny, please stay that way.']_

The portrait on the wall behind Sidney's desk had once hung in the bedroom her parents had shared. A silkscreen of Marilyn Monroe done by none other than Andy Warhol himself. If someone where to take down the rather large piece of artwork they would find a rather interesting note from Andy to Thatcher on the back, concerning the absurdity of people paying $6 for a can of soup simply because he had signed it. Thatcher had given the piece to Sidney shortly after Meredith turned seven. The housekeeper had hated it. While she couldn't quite figure out why the housekeeper's opinion mattered at the time, Meredith had thought it rather funny that her ultra conservative Uncle Tommy had a piece of pop art in his office.

Crossing, then re-crossing her legs Meredith continues to be transfixed by the blonde beauty staring down at her from over Uncle Tommy's head. She had later learned the housekeeper was her father's special friend. Ellis had come home early, found the rather buxom housekeeper dusting Thatcher himself with a feather duster and fired the woman on the spot. Shortly after she filed for divorce, found a home in Manhattan, and left without so much as a goodbye to her husband of ten years. When Meredith had questioned her on the move, as well as the absence of her father, Ellis had simply said he thought more of the housekeeper Susan than his family so they were well rid of him.

"How long has my father had an interest in Derek's company?" Like the affair with the housekeeper, this was another part of her father she didn't care to know about. Unlike the affair, she couldn't ignore this. This was not going to just go away with some well placed barbs.

The hesitation on Sidney's face gave the answer away before he even spoke the words. "He gave Derek and Mark the money to start."

Big inhale, followed by a rather loud, rushed exhaled. She repeated the process, willing the anger boiling up inside her to cool. Now was not the time to get angry. She needed to think. "All of it?"

"No. I believe that both Derek and Mark contributed a great deal. The majority of start up was funded by your father though, which is why he holds the controlling shares." Unease colored Sidney's voice. "It was always his intent to sell out to Derek and Mark."

Meredith nods. She already knew this. They had covered this ground with Derek present. "I have no interest in selling out. I thought I made that clear a little while ago."

"Yes, well, I understand that you might be…reluctant…to part with such a lucrative holding, but what do you know of production?"

Nothing. She knew jack shit. That didn't mean she couldn't learn. "I'm going to go now, Uncle Tommy. I'll call you later on this week. Maybe we could meet for lunch or something." She doesn't wait for him to reply back. Standing, she smooths her skirt down, grabs her black purse and hurries from the office. A million thoughts run through her mind. It would be a cold day in hell before she sold out to Derek. The Devil would have to have icicles hanging off his horns. A new era was starting for MWP. Whatever MWP had stood for in the past would no longer matter. It now stood for Meredith Would Prevail!


	20. Chapter 20

_Five Months Later…_

Pretentious paparazzi whores. Every square inch of the Spider Club was crawling with them. Wanna-be starlets just waiting to be discovered, arrogant pricks who thought they could act , bleach blonde heiress' who had to be the center of attention. Yeah, the paparazzi whores were out in full swing tonight, all hoping to catch the attention of some rag mag photographer or gossip columnist. Except for the two people scrunched together in a corner table to the left of the bar.

Lifting one bare leg Meredith slouched down in the satin covered booth. Long honey blonde curls framed a face flushed with rage and a scarlet silk dress barely covered her tiny body. Her green eyes fixated on Derek and a tall, young woman. She might have been pretty, with her creamy white skin and shoulder length dark hair, if not for the smug smirk that twisted her peach glossed mouth. The girl had scored big, having Derek Shepherd on her arm, and she wanted the whole world to know it.

"What does he see in her?" The question was rhetorical. Meredith knew exactly what Derek saw in Rose: an easy piece of ass. The two had met on the set of _The Anatomy Of Love_, Rose 'starring' as 'bar slut number two'. Apparently, Meredith couldn't be certain as she hadn't been there that day, Derek's laptop had gone haywire and 'sweet' little Rose, still wearing her fishnet stockings, thigh high boots, and leather hot pants, had saved the day by working out the 'cyber' kinks. It had been lust at first sight, and now the two were practically inseparable, much to Meredith's chagrin.

"She has a nice ass. And her tits aren't fake." Jerking her gaze away from the dance floor Meredith shot Alex a cold look. "Fine. Her ass is a bit too big for that dress, and her titties are droopy.

"You're not funny," Meredith grumbled, reaching for the bottle of tequila that sat on the round table in front of her. She doesn't bother pouring the amber liquid into the shot glass, instead she brings the bottle to her lips and takes a long swig. It burns down her throat and hits her stomach like liquid fire, leaving her with a delicious warmth that settled between her legs.

"Not trying to be," Alex slurred. He had long past the buzzed state and was well on his way to being good and sloshed. He didn't seem to mind his inebriated state, nor did Meredith. Most nights he was a fun drunk, making her laugh until her sides ached. Tonight wasn't one of those nights. Tonight he was in a rather dark mood that bordered on brooding.

She supposed it was the pressure, they were both feeling it. All eyes were on MWP, most waiting with baited breath to see if she failed. Despite her initial reaction and reasoning, Meredith was trying her damnedest to live up to the Grey name. It wasn't easy, making a script come to life. It was fucking hell. "She's only using him."

"Yeah. Probably." A loud thunk jarred the table as he slammed down his empty old fashion. "Know something I don't get? Why the fuck do you care? You hate Derek, remember?"

Yes, Meredith remembered. She wasn't likely to forget. The prick had broken her heart. "I don't care."

"Right," Alex snorted.

"I don't," Meredith insisted. She didn't care. Derek Shepherd could make a fool of himself with the slutty little tramp for she cared.


	21. Chapter 21

Long, soft fingers tipped with nails painted a sparkly tangerine walk up the long sleeve of Derek's charcoal gray button down shirt. The fingers end their trek at his collar, the glitter encrusted nails whispering across the sensitive skin just below his ear. Even as the move annoyed him, he could feel his cock growing hard. He stayed in a perpetually hard state anymore. Partially because of the giggling adolescent next to him, mostly because of the pissed looking woman sprawled in a corner booth.

"I wanna dance. Let's dance Deripoo." Rose walked her fingers down his shoulder and across his chest. He winced when the nimble digits found, and tweaked, one nipple. "Come on, come on, come on. Please, please, please."

He turned his head slightly, his dead pan gaze meeting the eager one of his nineteen year old companion. He still had moments when he wondered how the hell he had become involved with her. Then the clothes would come off and he would remember. Rose was golden in the sack. No inhibitions, no qualms about asking for what she wanted, no resentment over giving him what he wanted. Her willingness to try new things didn't hurt either. "I don't dance."

Full lips tinted a shiny peach fall into a pout. Long, thick lashes flutter. "But Deripoo, I love this song." The lips start to tremble, the lashes collecting moisture. Shit. He hated when she did this. He never knew when she was acting, or when her feelings had actually been hurt. A game of chance, that was Rose. On a good day she was a simple dice game. On a bad day she was Russian Roulette. All part of her charm. All part of the fun. "Come on Deripoo. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please."

Derek shook his head. Rose's whining and fit wouldn't budge him on this. He didn't dance. He never really had. Except for one rainy November night…

_"You promised…"_

Turning his head, Derek captured the lips whispering into his ear. The slow rush of heat pulsing through his body straight to his groin mocked the rapid beat of the up tempo 80s song blaring from the boom box. An after dinner dance in his kitchen was the last thing on his mind.

"You know I don't dance." Derek pulled Meredith onto his lap. Her slim body barely fit the space between his torso and the edge of the kitchen table.

His body began to show its appreciation of the brush of her breasts against his chest. Derek reached for her dirty blonde hair, pulling the strands forward over her shoulders to avoid the dirty dishes sitting behind her. He inched forward to catch her faint lavender scent.

"Please Derek, I really like this song." With a giggle, Meredith slipped off his lap and grasped his hand, pulling Derek from his seat. "You promised me one dance. Besides, we¹re not in public."

Derek reluctantly allowed Meredith to tug him out of the chair. His light sense of dread evaporated with a smirk as he tugged her into his arms, her body flush against his as Derek gently swayed their bodies from side to side. He ran his hands over the thin cashmere knit covering her back, the soft worn jean material clinging to the perfect curves of her backside. The lower half of their bodies came into close contact as they swayed.

"We're not dancing…" Meredith looked at Derek in question, blushing slightly at the way his full on erection felt against her stomach. The curious tingling warmth starting at that point of contact spread _outward and downward._

Unable to resist the rosy tint blossoming across her face, Derek dropped soft kisses on her forehead, pulling Meredith closer against him. "Yes we are." His lips teased her ear lobe, and the hollow beneath it. He urgently needed to inhale her scent. Deeply. The jump in her pulse encouraged his tongue to lightly trace the length of her neck. "Slow dancing. I can  
do...slow."

"Slow," Meredith sighed as his mouth moved to cover hers. Any thought of dancing to her favorite song was long gone. She was discovering a new fondness for slow dancing. Meredith's hands slid up his arms to rest over his shoulders, to lightly tug the curls at the nape of his neck. Looking up, Meredith watched as his lips moved above hers until they barely touched. Derek paused for a moment, to give Meredith the opportunity to say no. Her lips parted in anticipation as she waited. And waited. Sensing Derek¹s unspoken question, she moved her fingers firmly against the back of his head, guiding his lips forward till they touched her's. As their mouths met, Meredith wondered if she¹d ever breathe again.

He kissed her gently at first, his lips warm and tender. Derek held her in his arms as if she could break into a million of fragile pieces. But it wasn't enough. Not for him. A warning note sounded in the back of Derek¹s passion-soaked brain.

"Derek," she sighed again, and he groaned. Throwing all caution out the window Derek pulled Meredith into his arms. He deepened the kiss, and Meredith responded, touching the tip of her tongue to his. She pressed herself against him. The kiss wasn¹t enough. Not for her. Her hands slid down his spine, cupping the toned cheeks of his ass. Derek smiled against her mouth.

"Do you know what you¹re doing?" He had to ask, but the way Meredith dragged his hips against her body gave Derek his answer. He slid a hand between her thighs, feeling her heat, capturing her sharp cry of pleasure with his mouth. As Meredith¹s body stiffened and crumpled at his touch, Derek swung her limp body in his arms, and carried her quickly through the empty apartment to his bedroom, setting her down on his king-sized bed. He studied her prone body. Eyes closed, cheeks flush, hair in amazing disarray, her pink lips curving upward. She made his heart...stop. And he knew, from that moment on, only Meredith could keep it beating. Derek rested a knee on the edge of the mattress, his arms on both sides of her shoulders. He leaned over her and smiled.

Reluctant to stir from the wonderful sense of being Derek had created, Meredith opened her eyes. Looking up to meet Derek¹s heated gaze, she couldn't breathe or move. There was passion in his eyes, and inexperienced as she was, Meredith had seen too many movies not to recognize that look. She¹d seen it in him before, but not as unleashed as it was right now. But there was something else in his look, something that pushed aside the passion. She¹d think about it later. Meredith knew she had something more important to worry about. Him. All she could think of that moment was how Pacific blue his eyes are. And how much she loved them. And him. Meredith reached up and with trembling hands, cupped his face, pulling his mouth against hers.

Meredith kissed him. Hard. Hard enough to make him pant, hard enough to bruise his lips, hard enough to make him so hard and full he almost screamed. Hard enough to burn her brand on his heart as well as his soul. Meredith's smile was pure seduction. Her innocent passion stole his breath.

Collapsing next to Meredith, Derek reached for her, sighing at the delicate weight of the woman in his arms. He moved so she was half-draped over his body, her thigh across his, her arm lying over his _chest. Her head was on his shoulder. Silky, lavender-scented strands of her hair drifted across his lips. Derek grinned. Meredith felt warm, soft, wonderful. Perfect. In a heartbeat his rock hard erection grew impossibly more painful. His mouth reached for hers._

If she tried to stop him, Derek knew he would die. But he would stop. He could do it. He could. Instead the sound Meredith made against his lips was so delicious it made his heart pound hard and fast. Her hands threaded into the dark curls of his hair. He groaned and slipped his tongue between her pink lips, felt her momentary hesitation, and then she made another one of those little sounds that drove him half out of his mind and sucked delicately on the tip. Meredith looped her arms around his neck and drew him closer. So close he stopped thinking. Completely. Only taste and feel mattered at that moment. The taste of the hollow of her throat, the bump of her collarbone, the slope of her shoulder. The feel of her silky skin against his mouth. Meredith quivered in his arms.

"Derek," she moaned. "Oh my god…"

Derek's normally sure fingers were clumsy against the button of her jeans. Somehow Meredith managed to help him pull the soft worn fabric from her body, along with the cashmere sweater. He stopped. Just looking at her body killed him. She was more beautiful than he'd ever imagined. The silky pieces of lingerie clung to the supple curves of her breasts and hips in a way her bikini never did. Derek bent his head to express his reverence her form.

Cupping one round, pebbled breast, Derek brought it to his lips. Touching his tongue to the rosy peak, Meredith cried out in shock. Leisurely, he drew the nipple into his mouth, gently biting, sucking, stroking her flesh. His stubble scraped against her sensitized skin. The cry escaping from her throat was so wild and raw that Derek growled.

His mouth worked its way down her torso, kissing her belly, and reaching the soft golden curls that crowned apex of her thighs. He felt her slim fingers digging into his hair. Nuzzling, Derek kissed her. Meredith cried out and arched against him. Slipping his hands underneath her, Derek put his mouth to her again. He found the center of her pleasure and sucked and nipped until she couldn't scream any more.

Derek felt the orgasm rip through Meredith¹s slender body. He sat back,pulled off his sweatpants and came back to her. Barely remembering protection, Derek reached into the bedside table for a foil packet. Tearing in open, he sheathed himself.

"Meredith." At his whisper she looked up and Derek¹s heart consumed him. He barely registered how green her eyes are as he held her gaze. Parting her thighs, he slid his rigid length into her. He paused, giving Meredith¹s body time to adjust to him. Derek bent to her, kissing her mouth, and as he did, sank further into her, groaning as she sobbed his name against his lips. He fought the urge to take her hard and fast. Again and again. He wanted this to last...forever. Derek tried to withdraw, but Meredith rose to meet him,her fingers painfully digging into the muscles of his biceps as her silken heat clamped around him. "Meredith," he cried. "God, Meredith."

And then he stopped moving. Stopped breathing. His skin wore a faint sheen of sweat.

Meredith was a virgin.

He held still above her, in her, his life, his breath hanging suspended on the brink of infinity. Her tight _hold on him was killing him with pleasure. Her eyes closed, his name sighed from her mouth. Derek could feel his release rushing toward him. He wasn't ready. Not yet. But he was only human. And When Meredith¹s body arched, and her womb began tightening around him, Derek knew he was lost. He was lost, and she had found him. His hips began to move. Slowly at first. Until Meredith sobbed his name, blindly wrapping her legs around his waist. Her movements came from instinct, not experience. Derek caught her hands, and entwined his fingers with hers against the cool blue sheets._

"Derek," she said again, her voice breaking.

He knew letting her go was out of the question.

"…just sit back and I'll dance for us both."

Derek blinked, momentarily blinded by the flash of a hot pink, lime green, and electric blue strobe lights. Rose placed both palms of her hands on his chest. A twisted grin, one that would have normally scared as well as excited him, toyed across her glossy lips. His mind was still fixated on the past though, on the beautiful night he had shared with Meredith as well as the days that followed. Thatcher had phoned him first thing the next morning, demanding a meeting. The meeting had been more of an ultimatum. Leave Meredith alone or Thatcher would chew him up and spit him out. There had been no choice. He had had to much at stake where his career was concerned.

Ignoring the rub of Rose's body against his own, Derek glances in the direction of the woman who had consumed his thoughts. Like their love, she was gone…


	22. Chapter 22

A heterosexual male shouldn't have more than one platonic female friend. More than one caused a man to do strange things. Such as turning down no strings attached sex with a hot stripper named Kandy Kane, or needing advice so he visits his father in rehab so much that the facility starts questioning why he is there.

That had been Alex's breaking point, having the nurses taking care of her father ask him if he needed to check in. He had no addictions or uncontrollable urges to consume something. Now someone was another story.

And there it was, the crux of the matter. He was addicted to a certain blonde reporter. So addicted he was willing to do the unthinkable and take on a second "platonic" friend. So addicted that he was turning down sex from any woman that propositioned him, drinking to the point he couldn't see straight, and he walked around with a perpetual hard on.

The object of his undying lust waved at him from across the bar. Per usual, she wore next to nothing on her tall, lithe form. A pair of barely there white, French cuffed shorts and what looked to be a black leather vest over an electric blue satin bra that show cased miles of her tanned flesh.

Bracing himself, Alex downed the rest of his drink, then yelled for a waiter to get him another one. The drink arrived at the same moment as his hard to remember that she was only platonic friend. How the hell was he suppose to think of her like he did Meredith when he had had hot, sweaty sex with her?

"Cosmopolitan," Izzie said in the general direction of the feminine looking waiter. "So, how was your day?" She crossed her arms and rested them on the table. Her breasts threatened to spill out.

"I worked on my new script. I think I'm going to call it Tequila Sunrise. It takes place in Vegas." Alex lifted his glass, filling his mouth with expensive bourbon. He couldn't keep doing this. Pretending they were nothing more than friends. Sure, they had fun together, but damn it he couldn't be friends with someone he wanted to get naked with every time he seen them.

"Ooo. Vegas. I love Vegas." Izzie gushed, smiling brightly as the waiter placed her drink in front of her. "Thanks…" She leaned closer, peering at the kid's name tag, "Brad." Her full, red lips part as she takes a sip of her drink. "So, what is this new movie about? Other than Vegas."

Alex shrugs. Maybe if he was rude she would get pissed and leave. He would miss her, but it was for the best. "A girl who gets drunk and wakes up married. Turns out the man is her new boss."

"So you wrote a romantic comedy?" Izzie teased, her dark eyes sparkling. If it was possible, she leaned further down, even more of her cleavage being put on display.

"No." Alex scowled. Like hell his story was a romantic comedy. He wasn't some pansy ass who wrote silly love stories. "It's just a comedy."

"Does the girl fall in love with the boy?" He nodded. "And does he fall in love with her?" Another nod. "Are there obstacles that are some what hilarious standing between them?" Reluctantly he nods again. "You wrote a romantic comedy, Alex. Just face it."

"It's not a romantic comedy." Alex insisted. "There are a shit load of money shots. Hell, the leads spend half their time naked."

"So. It's still a romantic comedy." Izzie giggled, almost choking on her last sip of the Cosmopolitan. "I don't see why it's such a big deal."

"It's not." Alex finished off what he estimated to be his sixth drink. He had lost count after three. Not that it mattered. One call and some one would come drive him home. Him and Meredith. Meredith. He glanced around, frowning. Where the hell was Meredith?

"I think I seen her heading towards the dance floor," Izzie answered. Had he asked the question aloud? He must have. "She looked a bit pissed. Correction. She looked a lot pissed."

"Shepherd's out there. Getting it on with some extra from The Anatomy of Love." It had been disgusting, watching a man of Derek's caliber acting like some randy teenager rutting around with the town whore.

"Ah." Izzie nodded, as though she understood. For all he knew she did. Women had a way of knowing and understanding one another. It baffled the hell out of him. "She's not too fond of this extra I take it?"  
Alex shrugged. Not fond was one way of putting it. Meredith loathed Rose, had dropped many hints that he should pressure the director to find a new bar whore number two. "Mere's not fond of anyone Derek dates." That was true enough. Meredith hated women who had the misfortune of getting involved with Derek.

"History there?" Her head tilted to the left, a cascade of golden curls falling over her shoulder. The end of one dipped into her cleavage. He couldn't help staring. What he wouldn't give to see those breasts free, naked for his enjoyment. "Are you staring at my boobs?" The blunt question made him blink. "You are! Oh my God, Alex! We've been over this. We can't…you know…do that again. We're friends now. Friends don't…get nasty in the back of limos…and they don't stare at each other's boobs."

"I don't have boobs," Alex mused. The unedited truth that Izzie and he shared was one of the reasons he hadn't cut all strings. She was another Meredith. Except you don't want to get naked with Mere, he thought sourly. He toyed with his empty glass, twisting it in his hands. He wrinkles his brow. "And I know we're just friends." She had made that point loud and clear the night they had tracked Summer Dayz to some white stucco condominium complex. They had sat in his car for hours, whispering silly nothings while they waited for the porn star to emerge once more. Close to dawn he had leaned in to kiss her, only to have her stop him, saying they were friends now, and friends didn't do those sorts of things. There had been an almost desperate quality to her voice, so he had agreed. He had regretted ever since. She had castrated him in every way but the physical, turning him into one of her girl pals. He had even been privy to the details of her relationship with Denny Duquette, carpenter of the home improvement show _From Our House To Your's_. The last thing he had wanted to hear about was Izzie's failed attempts to seduce the down to earth builder. He didn't need to hear about her wearing sexy outfits in an effort to get the other man to join her between the sheets. "How are things going with Duquette?" Damn. Why had he asked that? Now she would go into a long, woeful tale of how the other man wasn't physically attracted to her.

Her smile faded, her fingertips tracing the rim of her glass. "I broke up with him."

"Oh. I'm sorry." Liar, liar, pants on fire. It was all he could do to keep the smile off his face. "When?"

"Just a little bit ago. You know, I'm not really upset about breaking up with him. It's why I broke up with him." Here it was. The tale of seduction. God, Duquette had to be gay or something. It wasn't right for a man to turn down a woman like Izzie. Then again, he had turned down Kandy Kane. "I invited him over for dinner. Even made sure Cristina was going to be gone and everything. I met him at the door wearing nothing. Nothing! And do you know what he did? Told me that I looked cold. He told me I looked cold and then went and sat on my couch. Just sat there. I got mad. Told him to get out. That we were through. Then you called. So I got dressed and came here." She looked up at him, her dark eyes darker than usual, sad. "I don't get what's wrong with me."

"Nothing's wrong with you. It's him. He's gay." The man had to be. No sane man turned down a woman who answered her door naked. He shoved his glass away, standing. He held out his hand. "Come on."

She hesitated, then placed her hand in his. "Where are we going?"

"My house." Alex twined his fingers with hers. He wasn't sure why he said he was taking her to his house. He never took women home. Since his freshman year in college, it was his cardinal rule. His only rule where women were concerned. Except with Meredith, but she had never made it past his first floor. She knew about his rule and respected it in her own way. "I'm going to let you read my script to prove to you it's not a romantic comedy." Where the hell did that come from? Another thing he never let anyone, other than Meredith, do. He must be going soft. Why the fuck was he breaking his rules for her? Shit. This means another trip out to rehab. 


	23. Chapter 23

_Author's Note: We are trying something a bit different in this chapter. We are combining POV. If it is hard to read please do not hesitate to tell us. This is just a trial run, see how it goes. _

On any given day, the tiny blonde slouched behind the wheel of the Volkswagen Thing would have chosen a more suitable pair of sunglasses than the black Versace frames trimmed in mango that seemed to swallow her face, one's that complimented her petite features. Today, her mind was anywhere but on how a pair of sunglasses looked, or the fact that the too big white sundress she wore wasn't her typical office attire.

The loud blare of a horn behind her has her lifting one slender arm to acknowledge that she had seen the light was red. Her fingers pause at her throbbing temple, the after effects of a night spent drinking and indulging in activities that left her mind scrambling to identify the emotion running through her. "I'm going. Stop honking already. Asshole." She debated on whether or not to flip the bastard tailing her the bird. It would be her luck that some paparazzi shit head had gotten it in their head to snap random photos of her being stupid. "They would have had a field day last night," she muttered, turning sharply into the gates of MWP. She flashed her badge to the armed guards in the guard shack. The golden gates swung open. Her gaze narrowed when she spotted a familiar vintage red Porsche parked half in the spot that was reserved for her, and half in the spot that actually belonged to him. "That mother fucker!" Her sandaled foot pressed down on the gas, gunning the engine. This would be the last time he parked in her spot that way.

"I'm fairly sure Karev wouldn't appreciate you moving his car that way."

She let her foot off the gas, turned her head towards the gruff sounding voice, and scowled. Derek scowled back. He looked in worse shape than her. "Go away."

His scowl tilted up into a smirk. "That isn't what you said last night." The anger simmering under her skin boiled to the surface. Two patches of red stained her cheeks. The bastard. He would have to bring up last night. "What's the matter Meredith? Not use to talking to your bed partners the next day?" Derek taunted. Her hand whipped out, connecting with his cheek before she could stop herself. He stared at her in disbelief before touching the crimson hand print. "I guess I should be thankful you didn't punch me again."

"I can," Meredith threatened, balling her tiny hand into a fist. She wouldn't. By nature she wasn't violent, there was just something about the ass standing before her that brought out a barbaric side of her.

"Maybe I should get you a few rounds of tequila. That seemed to make you friendlier last night." There it was again. That goddamn smirk. She lifted her balled up fist, ready to swing. He caught her wrist in one of his large hands. "I wouldn't if I were you. I was nice the last time, I won't be as nice this time." Derek leaned his face close to her's, the tips of their noses touching. She could feel his warm breath caressing her lips. Just a fraction closer and his mouth would cover her's. A secret part of her, one she had thought buried until last night, longed for him to do just that, to melt his lips against her's, to take her breath away. Much the way he did last night, a small voice whispered. Scowling, she pushed the voice back where it belonged, in the darkest, deepest recess of her mind.

"Like I give a fuck," Meredith sneered, jerking her arm free. Lifting her chin, she purposely strode into the office building. A blast of air conditioning hit her, but didn't do anything to cool the heat staining her cheeks.

"Oh you give a fuck," Derek sneered back, following her past the reception desk were a wide eyed secretary stared after them. "You give a bigger fuck than you want to give."

"Go to hell," Meredith yelled, slamming open the door to her office. Sorry bastard. The worst part of it all was he was right. She did give a fuck. Probably more than she should.

"I've been there already. I dated you, remember?" Derek snorted. She pressed her lips together, rage boiling inside her. His nerve never ceased to amaze her. What did amaze her was the amount of hurt he could still inflict upon her. There were times when she had to wonder if she was still that naïve eighteen year old girl. "By the way, my girlfriend is going to be wanting that dress back. The sunglasses too."

His girlfriend? Meredith narrowed his eyes. So slutty little Rose was his girlfriend, was she? Lucky, lucky Rose. Not. He would use her, get whatever it was he wanted from her, then dump her so fast her head spun. Just like he had Meredith. "Fine. She can have them back. Now!" With trembling hands, Meredith tugged the too big dress over her head. She threw it at Derek, smirking when it hit in smack dab in the face. Take that asshole! The sunglasses followed suit.

"Are you insane?" Derek demanded, balling the dress up. He tucked it under his arm. The sunglasses were pocketed. "Have you completely lost what little mind you had?"

Had he just accused her of being mentally imbalanced? Oh the nerve! Pressing her lips into a bitter looking pucker, Meredith reached for the heavy paper weight that sat on the edge of her desk. She came to her sense before she picked it up and chunked it at him. No need to give him more ammunition against her. Throwing herself at him last night had fulfilled this year's quota. No doubt he would be holding it over her head as long as possible. "You really are an ass, you know that?"

"I'm not likely to forget, seeing how you seem hell bent on reminding me every day!" Derek chuckled. She narrowed her eyes. Nobody laughed at her. Not even the almighty Derek Shepherd. Especially not Derek Shepherd.

"Maybe if you would quit acting like one, I wouldn't feel compelled to remind you," Meredith suggested. She turned her back on him, bending to open the bottom left hand drawer of her desk; there would be a pair of yoga pants and a t shirt in there. She knew she was giving him a perfect view of her ass, an ass barely covered by a pair of pink lace underwear that tied on the sides. Her fist closed around the pants, she started to lift them out. Her actions are stilled when she feels a pair of strong hands settle on her hips. She sucked in her breath when she felt his hot mouth come in contact with her shoulder. "Oh God," she whispered, balancing herself by placing one hand on the edge of the desk. His body pressed against her back, forcing her to place the other hand a few inches from the first.

"I hate you for this, you know that?" Derek hissed in her ear. She nodded. She hated him too. Hated that she wanted to feel him ram himself inside her, hated that she wanted him to make her beg. He caressed his hands up and down her thighs, one hand finally slipping between her legs. "I want you out of my head!" Gently he rubbed his fingers across her crotch, soliciting a moan from her lips. She didn't want to feel the shot of pleasure that coursed through her veins. Yet, there was no stopping it. Just like there was no stopping Derek when he untied the ribbons that held her panties on. She felt them fall to ground, heard the rasp of his zipper, knew she should tell him no. She gripped the edge of the desk tighter, preparing herself for that first glorious thrust, of the sense of fullness that would come. "I need to get you out of my head," he snarled. She wanted to nod, to tell him the feeling was mutual. She couldn't though, for he chose that exact same moment to shove his cock inside her. It hurt at first, the rough invasion, but shockingly enough there was pleasure mingled with the pain. Even more shocking was the sense of rightness.


End file.
